


Three Birds, One Stone

by UltimateFandomTrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 11x14: The Vessel, Alternate Ending, Anal Sex, Asexual Sam, Bisexual Dean, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Bruising, Casifer, Choking, Consent Issues, Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, F/M, Forced Nudity, Forced Orgasm, Fractures, Grace Bondage, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Hospital, Mentions of Prostitution, Mentions of Underage Prostitution, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, PTSD, Permanent Injury, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stitches, Threesomes, Torture, blood transfusion, dean with glasses, emergency surgery, forced blood drinking, i think, it gets hard to tell when possession is involved, non-con Castiel/Lucifer, non-con Damara, non-con Dean Winchester/Castiel, non-con Dean Winchester/Lucifer, non-con Sam Winchester/Lucifer, non-consensual anal sex, only in a dream but still, permanent eye damage, severe blood loss, some consensual sex snuck its way in here, torn muscles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: Lucifer gets an idea about how to use Castiel's body to hurt the Winchesters, and the aftermath lands them in the mental hospital, where they have to learn to live with their newest trauma. Alternate ending to 11x14 "The Vessel".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilwriter37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/gifts).



> This is probably the most evil thing I've ever written. Dear lord, I'm going to Hell. Seriously, read all the warnings and the tags. Please. I don't want anyone to freak out on me. Trust me, I put in enough information for you all to be prepared for what you're about to read. This is basically a how-to guide for breaking Team Free Will.
> 
> So originally this _was_ going to be a one-shot, but then my head already started coming up with scenes for later chapters. This story might potentially be long. But don't worry, I'm in no way abandoning _Who Is in Control?_ , or _Deathless_. I still love them just as much. The tags that don't come into play in this chapter, including the character tag for Jody, will show up in later chapters.
> 
> And for the record, I don't condone _any_ of Lucifer's words, thoughts, or actions.
> 
> I'm also gifting this work to evilwriter37 just because she's so damn excited about this.

“That’s not Cas!” Sam yelled to Dean, fear making his voice shrill.

His brother looked towards the angel who still had a hand on his shoulder, fear and confusion in his eyes. 

The Devil feigned a guilty expression. “Cat’s out.”

There was nothing Sam could do as he watched Lucifer throw his brother over the table with one hand; fear had frozen him in place. A grunt of pain left Dean and he lay there for a bit, too stunned to rise. Sam tried to will him to get up, to somehow do something to save them. But he remained on the floor. Lucifer smiled and threw a few punches at the air, pretending to box.

“Mm! I feel a burden lifted. You know, this whole deep cover thing, it just wasn’t - it wasn’t terribly well thought out. Donning this, this _Cas_ mask, the grim face of angelic constipation? Just… _ugh_.”

As he’d spoken an idea had come to Sam, one that _had_ to work. Slowly, he reached for his back pocket, where his knife was. The little movement hurt - his whole body was aching thanks to Lucifer having touched his soul earlier just because he “asked so nicely”. That was something Sam hadn’t experienced in years, and the memories it was digging up were making it hard to focus, especially since so much of his energy was being used to bury them again.

He dug the knife out of his pocket, only for it to fall from his shaking hand. It clattered to the floor.

Sam’s heart leapt up into his throat as Lucifer directed his gaze at him. Then he started coming over to him, and Sam gripped the knife, kicking himself away.

“What’s that you got there, Sammy?” he asked.

A desperate cry left him as Lucifer practically climbed on top of him, and started reaching around. Sam couldn’t get his hand away fast enough, and next thing he knew he felt a strong grip on his little finger. 

_Crack!_

He sucked in a breath, biting his bottom lip as he tried desperately to not cry out. A sharp pain shot through his finger, and down to his wrist, and then it began to throb intently. A strangled groan left him, and his grip on the knife weakened. Lucifer slipped it from his hand.

He pulled back, resting his weight on his knees, and he examined the knife with an amused smile on his face.

“What were you gonna do with this?” he asked.

Sam felt his brother’s curious gaze on him as well.

“N-nothing,” Sam stuttered out, even though he knew lying was futile.

The Devil tilted his head at him. “Come on, Sam. It’s me. You can tell me.” When he didn’t answer he threatened, “I could break another one of your fingers. Would that make you cooperate?”

Even though he knew he’d instantly regret it, Sam somehow built up the courage to spit in Lucifer’s face. The dark angel flinched, but didn’t seem at all disgusted. He didn’t even bother to wipe it away. Sam’s stomach curled in on itself.

Lucifer started laughing. “Oh, Sam. I forgot how much fun you can be. You know, spending time with you, and you,” he tilted his head to address Dean as well, “and _not_ trying to kill or at least maim you? It was getting _exhausting_. You boys were insufferable as mortal enemies, but _working_ with you? That’s even worse. I was going to just kill the both of you, decorate the walls with your guts and all that, but now I’m getting another idea.” He pocketed the knife with a smile. “And thanks for this. I’m definitely going to use it later.”

Dean got to his feet, but before he could even take a step towards Lucifer, he casually threw out his hand, pinning him against a pillar with his powers. His brother groaned, and Sam could see how tense his muscles were, trying with all his might to move. 

“No, no, no, Dean,” he chided, standing and going towards him. “You, you’re going to stay right there. Sam and I are going to put on a little show for you.”

He swallowed roughly, and his brother frowned, his gaze darting to him.

“Sam? Sam, what does he mean?”

Lucifer suddenly rushed up and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to not look at the person addressing you?”

Dean’s voice trembled as he asked, “What are you going to do to my brother?”

He patted Dean’s cheek. “Nothing I haven’t already done before.”

Sam backed towards the pillar, and he gripped it with his right hand, almost like the solidness of it would give him strength. It didn’t. All he felt was terror as his heart tried to escape his chest.

Lucifer released Dean and sauntered over to him, and Sam’s mouth was open as he gasped, now finding it very difficult to get enough air in.

The Devil leered at him. “You really shouldn’t have your mouth open like that, Sam,” he said. “It’s giving me ideas.”

“I-ideas?” Dean questioned.

Lucifer ignored him, and Sam didn’t have the stomach to explain.

“So how do you want to do this, bunk buddy?” he asked.

A shiver ran through Sam. It’d been a few years since Satan had called him that.

“Of course, I can’t have you against the pillar like that,” he began, as if he was casually explaining a simple, everyday problem. “Dean won’t get to see nearly enough that way.”

Sam shook his head, and amidst the horror freezing his blood he was able to get his mouth to work. “No. No. You’re not gonna- not gonna touch me.”

Truth be told, he didn’t want anyone to touch him sexually ever again. Sure, there was that woman he’d had sex with a few months ago, but he’d been growing more comfortable with himself at that point. And now, seeing Lucifer again, being _near_ him, had ruined all of that.

Lucifer laughed. “Sure, like that’s going to stop me. Admit it, Sammy. You’re helpless.” He crouched down suddenly, and Sam stiffened when he put a hand in his hair. When he spoke next his voice was lower, more predatory, and it sounded so damn wrong because it was almost like Cas was speaking to him like this: “I can do _whatever_ I want with you. And I’m going to do just that.”

And then he stood, tugging Sam to his feet. His body didn’t want to listen when he told it to fight, so he stood there, trembling as Lucifer eyed him. 

“Hmm…” he mused. “Let’s start with your clothes. Do you want to take them off, or shall I?”

“Don’t touch him!” Dean shouted.

“Jeez Louise!” Lucifer shouted, tearing his gaze away to look at Dean. “Talk about bad audience etiquette.”

With Satan’s gaze focused elsewhere it no longer felt like his energy was being sapped from him, so Sam took a risk. Even though he felt bad about what he was going to do since he would be hurting Cas as well, he grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding onto him, and he twisted it violently. A multitude of snaps met his ears and a snarl left the Devil. It sounded as if it was filled more with anger than pain.

He slowly turned his head back to him, his eyes now glowing red. Before his fear could rise up and dig its claws into him again, Sam punched him in the face, aiming for his nose. Satan didn’t even try to dodge or deflect. He took the punch.

And Sam was the one who got hurt.

A cry left him and he cradled his right hand to his chest. His knuckles bled and they’d surely be turning shades of blue, black, and purple very shortly. He hoped he hadn’t broken anything, but he couldn’t be sure. It just hurt so much. In his surprise, he’d tried backing away, forgetting that the pillar was behind him. He ended up pressing himself against it, wishing he could somehow disappear.

A white shard of bone was sticking out of Lucifer’s wrist, blood dripping to the floor. Sam didn’t even have time to feel pride for injuring him like that because he snapped the bone back into place, a growl leaving him as he did so. A ringing sound met his ears and the wound began to glow with angelic light.

And then Lucifer was healed.

His gaze went back to Sam, and sweat trickled down the sides of the hunter’s face, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

The dark angel didn’t even have to tell him he would regret that. The hellish, red glow of his eyes said it all.

Sam seized up as the Devil lunged at him, expecting powerful blows to be rained down upon him. But none of that happened. Instead one hand went for the back of his neck, the other doing god knew what, and he pressed their lips together. Sam scrunched his face up in disgust, his eyes squeezing shut. Without his consent a whimper left him. And then he was being turned around, so that he would no longer be facing Dean if the Devil stepped away. His older brother would be able to see everything now.

He trembled, his muscles fighting to go limp as he tried to urge them to have him move away. 

“Sam!” Dean’s warning rang through the air, but it was too late.

Searing pain flashed across his back, and Lucifer pulled away as he fell to his knees. He threw his head back as he screamed, and he could already feel blood flowing from the wound. Lucifer was holding the knife he’d taken from him, the blade dripping red. There was an ache to his injury as well, a sign that the Devil hadn’t just used the force necessary to slash his skin. He’d used the same force he would to punch him, and the torn and ravaged muscles of his back felt it.

“There we go, Sammy. On your knees, just as you should be.”

“Stop calling him Sammy!” Dean yelled out.

Gratitude for Dean defending him could barely come to life in him. The burning in his body was currently owning his world. And fear. Raw, pure, unadulterated fear had dug its frigid teeth and claws into him, sinking through skin and muscle, into his soul, and it was dragging him down. He no longer had the strength to fight it. This was just the beginning, and already he was losing himself.

He heaved in air as he collapsed, and because of his broken finger and bruised and bleeding knuckles he was unable to rest all of his weight on his hands, so he fell unceremoniously, rolling onto his side with a tired groan.

“Dean,” Lucifer growled out, “you’re almost lucky you’re next. If not I’d cut out your tongue.”

Maybe Dean didn’t understand what Lucifer meant by saying he was next. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe what was going to happen was just too dark for him to comprehend. 

“Then start with me,” he challenged, “‘cause I’m not gonna shut up.”

Satan turned to him. “Don’t test me,” he warned. But then he must have taken in the horrified look on his face because he went on, his tone teasing, almost like an adult talking to a frightened child, “Aw, you’re worried about your brother. You think you can save him from this, don’t you?”

“ _I will_.”

Lucifer laughed, and it sounded so god damn innocent that it caused chills to run rampant up and down Sam’s spine. “Oh, you’re gonna be fun.” He breathed in contentedly. “But you’re just going to have to wait your turn.”

A primal growl tore from his brother’s throat as the Devil turned his attention back on him, leaving the knife on the floor so he could start tearing at his shirt. And there was nothing Sam could do. He felt so weak. Lucifer wasn’t even trapping him with his powers, yet here he was, unable to move.

He tossed his torn and bloodied shirt aside, and then started on his belt. Sam closed his eyes, and starting murmuring to himself. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.”

 _It just_ can’t _be. It can’t be possibly happening to me again!_

He was _done_ with Lucifer. He thought he’d left him in Hell for good this time. But try as he might, he couldn’t even feel any anger towards Cas. There was only sadness because his friend hadn’t known. He’d been so hurt, so desperate to be useful, to mean something to himself. And now… and now he was going to get violated too. Sam and Dean wouldn’t be the only ones with haunting memories from this experience. Lucifer was hurting all of them with just one blow.

Lucifer started pulling his jeans and boxers down.

“Oh, Sam Winchester, this is most definitely happening. And you can blame Cas for it.”

“It’s not… it’s not his fault,” Sam got out.

“Oh, it’s not? I could’ve sworn he was the one who said _yes_ to me.”

Somehow, a laugh left Sam, but it was breathy, uneven. “Maybe you should study what that word means, ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t say it.”

He smiled at him, and it was feral, dangerous. “I know. That’s what makes this so much fun.” He turned his head back, addressing his brother now. “You watching, Dean?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Dean pleaded. “Just… _don’t_. Please.”

“Aw, you hear that, Sammy? He said _please_. You boys, over here begging - it’s adorable.”

The Devil turned his attention back to him, and Sam could feel his heavy, dark gaze on him. He lifted up his head to look at him.

“Dean’s watching, by the way,” he informed him in a whisper. “Ten bucks says he’s gonna get off from this.”

There was nothing Sam could say to that because suddenly Lucifer’s hand, _Cas’_ hand, really, was wrapped around his cock, gripping just a little too tightly. A groan left him and he threw his head back. His aching, throbbing body eagerly grabbed at the spark of pleasure his touch sent through him, and he gritted his teeth as he felt the growing pressure and heat of his erection. 

“Ooh! I barely had to do anything. Have you missed me, Sam?”

“ _STOP!_ ” he pleaded with Satan as he began to pump him up and down. His cheeks burned red, shame burrowing into him like a drill, causing his stomach to churn and for a hole to form in his chest. Parts of him seemed to chip away and fall into the yawning chasm growing within him. Unshed tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

He just wanted to sink into the floor, never to be seen again. He didn’t even want to know of his own existence. The mere thought that _this_ was happening, that the Devil was violating him like this in front of _Dean_ was enough to tear him apart. And it hurt more than his worn body and his broken finger and his damaged knuckles and his bleeding back.

“Dean,” he got out, “close your eyes. Please… _please_ close your eyes.”

Lucifer whirled towards his brother, but he didn’t at all stop what he was doing with his hand. He pointed at him. “Ah-ah-ah! Eyes _open_.” 

The hand that wasn’t touching him he flicked upwards, and then Sam heard his brother mutter, “Fuck.”

Without even having to ask, Sam knew what the Devil had done. He’d made it so Dean couldn’t close his eyes. In about ten seconds that was going to start hurting. That was just another reason Sam wanted Lucifer to finish with him quickly, but he knew he wouldn’t. He always took his time with him.

Now Sam wasn’t sure what he wanted because he _knew_ nothing he could say or do would stop this from happening, but he didn’t want it to happen. No one would ever want anything like this to happen to them. But that didn’t matter. It was going to. If he somehow convinced Lucifer to get right to it this might be over more quickly for him, and then Dean would be allowed to close his eyes. But then it’d be his brother’s turn. Maybe he shouldn’t bother postponing the inevitable.

There was only one way to make this happen more quickly.

Sam was going to have to beg.

“Lucifer, please…” Sam began, but then he found he couldn’t go on. A deep groan left him, and he unintentionally bucked his hips up into him, his cock twitching as he ran his thumb along the tip. But hopefully his body’s treacherous reactions would help with his plan.

“I know, you want me to stop.” He chuckled. “You’re so cute.”

“No, no…” Sam shook his head, and then he swallowed roughly, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “Please, just take me.”

Lucifer pulled away from him, and his hand was no longer on him. The face that he was so used to seeing Cas’ expressions on now scrunched up in confusion, but it looked foreign in the sense that it didn’t belong on that face. 

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head again.

Sam glanced at the knife, wondering if he’d be able to move quickly enough to stab himself in time. Then he abandoned the thought, though his hatred for himself was still chipping away at his scarred soul.

His stomach churning, his breaths coming in gasps, his mouth going dry, and his skin becoming slick with sweat, Sam lowered his pants even more.

Lucifer just looked on with wide, hungry eyes.

He turned to Dean. “For the record, I did _not_ train him to do this.” Then he mused, “Though maybe I should’ve. Okay, Sam Winchester, I’ll make you my bitch, just ‘cause you asked me so nicely.”

A tear fell.

A whimper left his brother, and Sam glanced at him. His eyes were watering, or maybe he was crying. It was possibly a combination of both. His bottom lip started trembling, and then Sam was sure the droplets falling from his eyes were tears.

But he didn’t see what he expected. He’d expected disappointment, disgust, hatred, even. But all he saw was pain and sadness.

“I’m so sorry he’s done this to you before,” Dean said softly, his voice cracking on _sorry_. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for not understanding.”

The words that Sam wanted to say died on his tongue, so he simply gave his older brother a solemn nod. A sob tried crawling its way up from his throat.

Lucifer surprisingly ignored the sentiment shared between them, and grabbed Sam by his waist, rolling him onto his stomach.

Dizziness overcame him, and his body started making too much saliva. In order to combat the nausea now rolling through him, Sam tried taking in a deep breath. It was interrupted when the Devil straddled him, one hand pressing into the wound on his back.

A strangled cry left him, and then he choked out a sob. Oh god, it _was_ happening again. Lucifer was going to rape him _again_. 

Why? Why did he have to endure this? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _right_. Sam involuntarily arched into the floor in a vain attempt to escape as he heard Lucifer start undoing his belt. That put unwanted pressure on his erection, and he winced. And he cursed his body for even delighting in any pleasure given to him by Lucifer in the first place. His body wasn’t like his mind. It didn’t understand all the implications and complicated emotions of this. And Sam hated it. He hated having a body. He hated living. He hated existing.

And his heart was breaking. It was breaking for Dean. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t even have to know this had ever happened to him. And his heart was breaking for Castiel. He knew his best friend didn’t want this. And now, they were both being forced to know each other in a terrifyingly intimate way by Satan himself. 

_The Devil_ possessing an _angel_ was going to rape him. Bile rose up in Sam’s throat when he suddenly felt Lucifer’s hardened cock, free of clothing, pressing against his ass, and he coughed it up, his throat burning. It wasn’t just feeling another man’s length against him that disgusted him, it wasn’t just from not wanting this, it was the fact that the Devil had actually gotten aroused from hurting him. Sure, that went with his job description, but experiencing it was so very different from knowing it. It was infinitely more terrifying, infinitely more heart wrenching, infinitely more painful. And he was about to hurt a lot more. That knowledge nearly stopped his heart.

Sam wished it had.

He whined, clenching his hands into fists, despite the sharp jabs the action sent through him. Lucifer had placed himself in between the cheeks of his ass and was now rutting against him. A moan left the dark angel, and more of Sam’s tears fell because it was Cas’ voice. Oh god, would he ever be able to look at his friend again? Would he ever be able to touch him again, to hear him speak again?

After this, Sam wasn’t sure. And that sent shards of ice stabbing into his heart. He sobbed, his body trembling as it heated up from strongly misplaced excitement.

“Castiel,” Dean began, voice weak, “I know you’re in there. Please, don’t let this happen to my brother. Don’t let this happen to _you_.”

Lucifer grunted, seemingly from pain this time. And then he growled, and pulled away from Sam. Only to line himself up at his hole.

“ _Sto-op!_ ” he cried out. His whole body was shaking from an abhorrent mix of fear and arousal. Oh god, why did his body seem to want this? Why did it not _understand_?

It didn’t matter that Sam had been raped so many times before. This was still something he couldn’t make sense of, and he knew he’d never be able to. Making sense of something so damn wrong, so inexplicably evil, was truly impossible.

Sam wasn’t sure who screamed louder when Satan thrusted into him. He was surrounded by sounds of anguish and fear and profound suffering. And pleasure, raw, voracious pleasure. Lucifer used Castiel’s voice to scream, and it made Sam want to stab his eardrums just so he never had to hear that again. But there was something more in the dark angel’s voice, something that wasn’t quite him, something friendly, and familiar despite the torment it spoke of. It was Castiel. A spark of hope flared in Sam for a second, but it was crushed by an unending darkness when the thrusts began.

Though Lucifer wasn’t used to his current vessel, it didn’t take him long to find Sam’s prostate. He just knew his body that well. He pounded against it, and it sent shockwaves of violent, searing pleasure up his spine, into his gut, and up through his cock, which was now being pressed against the hard floor with each movement. But there was more than just pleasure. Lucifer used Castiel’s body to tear into him, ripping and bruising, making him bleed. His thrusts became easier as his unfortunately large member became soaked in his blood. 

And Sam screamed and screamed and screamed. And Dean screamed. And the Devil shouted with pure joy.

Dean cried out, his voice surging up out of his chest, “ _Cas! Fight him! I know you can! You’re strong enough!_ ” A growl left him, no doubt because of the way his eyes were burning and watering, but then he continued, his voice not as strong now, it was more intimate, meant for just the two of them, “Cas, I get it, okay? Y-you felt weak, you felt like a failure. You felt useless.” He choked out a sob. “You’re not useless, okay? You’re so, _so_ far from useless. You _matter_ to us, Cas. You matter to _me_.” Dean’s voice broke on the last word, and now he was all out sobbing. “Y-y-you ma-matter t-to me, C-Cas. An-and I belie-believe in-in… in you! _Now fight him!_ ”

Sam heaved in a breath as the atrocious thrusts came to a stop, his battered, torn body thankful for the reprieve, even if he was still buried deep within him. A tortured moan left the man on top of him, and it sounded _exactly_ like Castiel.

“Sam,” he breathed out, pulling out of him.

The younger Winchester cried out as Cas’ cock left him; it’d rubbed against his sensitive insides.

“I’m sorry.”

Before relief could properly take hold in him, a grunt left the angel.

“Cas?” Sam croaked out, panic causing his pulse to accelerate. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t… I can’t hold him off.”

“Please,” Sam begged, not even sure if he was directing it at Cas. He didn’t know who he was begging to. He just wasn’t ready for more. He’d never be ready.

“I-I’m…”

He screamed, and the pitch changed, becoming slightly higher, more cold, somehow. And then the Devil was inside of him again.

Sam lost track of time, he lost track of everything but the sensations overwhelming his body and the shame pounding into the very center of his soul. Pain and pleasure intertwined in a vicious dance, a violent battle, and they pummeled and caressed each other, coming together again and again.

Would this ever end?

Somewhere in the middle of it all Satan had removed his boots and the rest of his clothes, leaving Sam completely naked and vulnerable.

Occasionally Dean’s strained voice met his ears, assurances that he was there, that it was going to be okay. If only that could comfort him. He didn’t even have space within his crowded mind to appreciate that his brother didn’t hate him.

At some point Lucifer had rolled Sam onto his back, the floor pressing unforgivingly against his knife wound. Because of that, there were now two puddles of blood on the floor.

He didn’t understand it, but the Devil pumped his cock, like he was trying to get him to climax. And it felt beyond good. The pleasure from it burned white-hot, throbbing throughout his screaming body, his overwhelmed nerves. And Lucifer had used something to make his touch more slick, something liquidy and hot. Sam didn’t know what it was at the moment, but it felt wrong.

It didn’t matter that he was Satan’s vessel, that his sole reason for existing was so Lucifer could be inside of him. None of this felt right. Not even the liquid fire that danced and sang through him, causing pressure to build in his pelvis and lower abdomen. Not even the jabs of pleasurable heat that traveled up his spine felt right. And it was made so much worse that it was Castiel’s body that was touching him. Castiel was his friend, nothing more, nothing less. But now…

Now he didn’t know what they would be. 

Even through his excruciating agony he could feel his balls tightening, feel his muscles tensing, recognize the way his body was arching into Lucifer’s abhorrent touch. He was going to cum. Any second now.

Lucifer, knowing his body even more than he himself did, also recognized the signs of his impending climax. And he rode him that much harder.

Light, white and burning and atrocious, took over his whole world. A scream tore from his throat that his voice had already scraped raw, and more tears fell, tears that he hadn’t even known he’d had left. He trembled violently, a jolt seemingly as powerful as a wave of electricity shot up from his toes, and sensation seared itself into him, his very being. His insides clenched around him, as if begging for more torture, and his cock throbbed in Lucifer’s powerful grip, and then his cum was shooting out onto his stomach. Dark and disturbing thoughts he couldn’t even make sense of took over his brain and goosebumps ran along his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with each second he wished for this to end, hoping for it more than he ever had before. His cheeks burned red from exertion, from arousal, and from shame. Shame that seemed to shatter him.

Sam had come undone, and the Devil hadn’t stopped.

Dean’s voice broke through his agony; heartbroken screams that sounded like they were coming from a grieving and wounded animal. A much uglier sound was coming from Sam, something like a mix between a whine and a growl, but much more primal, and so very far from human. It took maybe a minute to realize that that sound was even coming from him. He hadn’t known a human could sound like that.

Sam wasn’t sure what Lucifer’s intent was anymore, wasn’t even sure why he’d tried guessing at it earlier.

And then, when his body got used to the over-stimulation and somehow found the ability to enjoy it, Lucifer pulled out of him. Sam was whimpering in the aftermath of his abuse, trying to comfort himself with the fact that it was over for him. It had to be. Surely that’s what this was.

“Oh, Sam!” Lucifer cried out, sounding breathless from sheer pleasure. “I _missed_ that.”

A sob crawled its way out of his throat. Whimpers and whines that weren’t his own met his ears and he opened his eyes, looking over to Dean. His brother’s face was wet with tears and from his watering eyes, and those very eyes were bloodshot. A layer of sweat coated his skin. But that wasn’t all Sam noticed. It was impossible to ignore. His brother was _incredibly_ hard.

Any normal person would feel absolute hatred from the knowledge that their sexual torment had aroused someone else, but Sam felt none of that. He understood. Dean’s body had betrayed him too. And his already broken heart shattered into even tinier pieces knowing that his brother had to experience that.

A groan left Sam, and he turned away, hoping to wallow in his misery, and _begging_ for his aching erection to go away.

Lucifer stood, Sam’s blood dripping from him, and he walked over to Dean, his movements sinuous and predatory.

“Your turn, Dean.”

“ _No._ ”

Sam had to bite his right fist, which was now covered in scabs, in order to stop himself from wailing at the terror in his brother’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” the dark angel taunted. “I know you like this vessel. Sure, I haven’t been in your head like I’ve been in Sam’s, but I’m in Cas’. I know all those quiet, intense moments you’ve shared. I know how he feels about you. And I know the way you look at him, longing in your eyes. It’s sweet, really. And to think, you even looked at _me_ like that earlier when you thought I was actually your precious angel. Oh, Dean.”

Unable to help himself, and cursing natural human curiosity as he did so, Sam rolled over onto his other side. He wasn’t able to hold in a groan, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. The Devil was now caressing his brother’s face, and relief swept through him when he saw that Dean was blinking again. 

“You know, now that I think of it,” Lucifer began, “I _really_ shouldn’t fuck you when I have Sam’s blood all over me. It’s just really not classy.”

“So you’re thinking about class after what you just did to my brother?” he snarled out. “After what you did to Cas?”

Lucifer shrugged. “I’m not an animal, Dean.”

And then he sauntered back over to Sam.

Sam didn’t have any strength left, none at all, but he searched desperately through the cracked pieces of his being for anything that could help him. There, out of his darkness, out of his strife, he threw together what he could. It wasn’t enough, nothing would ever be enough, but it was something. He used that, and through sheer force of will converted it into strength, and he started pushing himself away, beginning to drag himself across the floor. Sam’s mouth was dry. He had a feeling about what was going to happen next, and it was maybe even more terrible than what he’d already suffered through that day, mostly because Dean would bear witness to it. He’d bear witness to yet another disgustingly horrifying act.

Lucifer _tsk_ ed. “Sammy, where do you think you’re going? You have to clean me off.”

“I won’t… do it,” he heaved out, not stopping to look at him as he continued his futile escape attempt.

His breath caught in his throat as it felt like he was stabbed again. But pressure remained this time. He hadn’t been stabbed. Lucifer was stepping down on the wound in his back.

“Oh you’ll do it alright. I find that I can be very convincing.”

He shuddered, and then found the ability to breathe again. His voice leaked into his breaths.

“What’ll it take, hmm? Another broken finger? A dislocated rib or two? Maybe a stabbed thigh? Skinning, perhaps? How do you feel about losing one of your toes?”

Sam turned his head, doing his best to look at him. “Hurt me all you want,” he challenged. “I won’t do it.”

“Fine,” Lucifer conceded. As he removed his foot from Sam’s back, he asked, “Dean, you’re right-handed, am I correct?”

“What?” his brother asked.

“Come on, Dean. It’s just a simple yes or no question. Well, actually I was doing it just to appear polite, you know? It’s a little rude showing you know something about someone without that person having given you that information.”

“Lucifer, what are you doing?” Sam growled out.

“Hush,” he snapped, and then he leaned down and picked up the knife before approaching his brother. Sam’s heart decided to start beating like a bass drum during a crescendo. “You see, Dean,” Satan explained, “I know you nearly as well as Sam does. That was one of the perks of possessing him.”

Sam watched with wide eyes as the Devil took hold of his older brother’s right hand, bringing the knife towards it.

He chuckled. “I know you like your middle finger a lot. It’s just so useful for insulting people. Let’s say we get rid of it, shall we?”

A scream left his brother as the knife plunged into his finger, just above his knuckle. Blood began to spurt, landing on Lucifer’s shirt, coating his already bloodied hands, and falling to decorate the floor.

“ _No!_ ” Sam cried out. “I’ll do it! Lucifer, I’ll do it!”

He sighed, withdrew the knife, and turned to him. Sam eyed Dean’s hand to make sure he still had all five fingers - he did, though he was bleeding fiercely. The initial spurt died down into a fierce torrent and his hand was completely red as Lucifer flicked his own hand, making it go back down to his brother’s side again.

_Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip._

Lucifer approached him, and Sam started lifting himself up, his body screaming in admonition. He would do this. He _could_ do this. If it saved Dean from losing a finger he had to. There was no way around it.

All too soon, Lucifer's, well, _Castiel’s_ cock, was in Sam’s face, covered in his own blood. He nearly forgot how to swallow.

“Use your tongue,” the Devil instructed, and then winked at him.

With his trembling right hand he gripped him and brought his mouth towards him. With the first touch of his lips against his skin, Sam’s stomach threatened to empty itself, and a breathy sound akin to a sob left him.

But he thought of Dean, and he pushed through, darting his tongue out to start licking him clean. A deep groan left the dark angel and one hand tangled in his hair. Sadly, the other made its way around his neck, squeezing ever so slightly.

Sam tried pulling away as he gasped in surprise, but Lucifer held him steady and took advantage of him opening his mouth wider. Oh god, the metallic and salty taste of his own blood was _awful_. And beneath that was the taste of skin, and maybe some precum. Sam was pretty sure he’d never been more nauseous in his life, but somehow he kept his stomach under control. His gag reflex was another matter, but Lucifer forced him through it, shoving his cock down his throat with an eagerness that could only be rivaled with the way he’d taken him earlier.

Though Lucifer was dominating him again, Sam still tried to do his best, licking trails over and under him as he plundered his mouth. He did it for Dean, so his brother could keep his finger. With every second that passed he had to tell himself that.

The head of his cock was bumping against the back of his throat, and it hurt a lot more than he remembered. Then again, Cas was, um… a little bigger than Lucifer’s vessel during the apocalypse. Though he could generally open his mouth fairly wide his jaw was starting to ache, and panic pulsed through him from the way his body kept attempting to gag and kept attempting to breathe normally. No matter what he did he couldn’t relax his throat, and he couldn’t get enough air in. His eyes were watering, and he was moaning his discomfort, his voice muffled. 

Lucifer was moaning too, and he was staring down at Sam with lust and insatiable hunger. Hunger that he knew he was going to introduce Dean to once he was finished with him. 

So Sam forced himself to moan even louder, stopped trying to relax his throat (he knew Lucifer liked it when he gagged), sucked with just the right amount of pressure he knew Lucifer enjoyed, and began fondling his balls. Hopefully he could lessen some of the torture Dean would be forced to go through.

Sam would rather be stabbed through the middle of his chest than do this, but no one was offering, and he couldn’t pull away to do it himself. Kneeling there on the floor, his strained and ruined body began to hurt even more, and he trembled with the effort this all took.

Finally, Lucifer pulled away from him, a satisfied sigh escaping his mouth. He slapped Sam lightly on the cheek, and then went over to Dean again.

Sam collapsed, but unconsciousness didn’t take him like he wished it to. And there was one thing he was too keenly aware of. His body, the totally fucked up part that apparently liked getting raped even though he hated it so damn much that it made him want to die, had enjoyed giving the Devil a blowjob. He was still incredibly, and achingly hard, and the fact that his cock was covered in his own blood didn’t change that. He groaned, and looked to his brother. Hopefully Lucifer wouldn’t take as long with him.

 

Dean couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He’d just watched his brother get raped by the Devil, and he couldn’t even believe that he’d suffered through it before. It hurt _so damn much_ knowing that he’d failed him so badly, that he’d failed in his duty of protecting him. Oh god, if he had known… he wouldn’t have let Sam out of his sight ever again, wouldn’t have even let him go into Hell to talk to him about Amara.

Lucifer approached, and it wasn’t till he stood a few inches away from him that Dean could actually _see_ him. What he’d done to his eyes had made his vision blurry, and there was a worry piled in amongst all his fear that he wouldn’t ever be able to see normally again. Even though he could now see Lucifer’s face, he just kept coming closer.

“Dean, Dean, Dean…” he mused. “Oh, Dean, this must be killing you.”

He caressed his face and he flinched away. Doing so shouldn’t have been so damn hard, but it felt like Cas’ hand was touching him, just like he’d always wanted him to. And he knew that things were about to get a whole lot worse. And they did.

A dreadful groan of desire left him as the dark angel palmed at his erection. Oh god, he couldn’t even believe he was erect. How had watching his little brother be torn apart done this to him? _Why?_ Dean just couldn’t understand, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to.

Somehow, feeling what was supposed to be Castiel’s hand touching him like this while he was unable to move made him even harder, and his cock twitched in the Devil’s grip.

Satan chuckled. “Do you like being restrained?” he asked, his voice soft.

Dean was taken aback by his tone. He wasn’t acting like he’d expected, wasn’t acting like he had with Sam. With Sam he’d been violent, completely harsh and ruthless, but with him it was almost like he was trying to be romantic.

But, he had to admit, if he was the Devil, he’d be doing the exact same thing to him. This is what it really took to hurt him because he’d yearned for Cas’ touch, yearned to be with him, to hold him, and to love him. And now… And now Lucifer was pretending to do just that, teasing and taunting him.

More tears fell from his itchy, burning eyes, and his throat ached.

“You do, don’t you?” he murmured. “You see, Sam doesn’t. If I’m being honest here, Sam would prefer to be dominant, but of course, I can’t have that, now can I? Well, he probably doesn’t even think about sex anymore. I absolutely _ruined_ him when he was in Hell.” He chuckled. “But enough about Sam, this is supposed be all about you now.” He paused, taking in Dean’s reactions as he groped him, staring as he bit at his bottom lip. “You’re more submissive, aren’t you?”

“How do y-” Dean began to ask, but the dark angel interrupted him.

“Your body is telling me everything I need to know, Dean Winchester.”

He gripped him tighter, and Dean winced, tilting his head away. His stomach was quivering from excitement, and it just made him want to die.

“I must say, you’re not as big as Sam. But hey, I’m not sure _anyone_ is. You’re still quite an impressive size though.”

“ _That’s not. For you. To know,_ ” he got out through gritted teeth.

“I know. But it’s something you wanted Castiel to know, isn’t it?” He leaned closer to him, his mouth going towards his ear. Dean’s heart sped up as the Devil sucked his earlobe into his mouth, and a crack formed deep in the center of his chest. Then he trailed his tongue over his skin, and feeling his breath against him sent a shiver down his spine. “And now he does,” he whispered.

He pulled away, and Dean looked into his eyes, into _Cas’_ eyes. His best friend had to be in there somewhere in those crystalline, azure depths.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” he got out. “This isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

The Devil lowered his head, and he braced himself against the pillar, a grunt leaving him. 

The voice that left him next was solely Castiel’s. “I had wanted to be with you, Dean. But not like this. This…” He choked up, and Dean watched a tear fall from his chin.

“I know,” he told him. “I know.”

A growl ripped from his throat, and the angel’s head snapped back up. Only, his eyes were glowing red.

“There, you got to talk to your boyfriend. Happy?”

“Screw you.”

Lucifer’s eyes were back to Castiel’s blue.

“No, silly. I’m going to screw _you_ ,” Lucifer told him, tapping his nose on the last word. Dean flinched away, and the dark angel chuckled.

Satan inhaled peacefully as he started unbuttoning his shirt, taking his time with it. He ran his hand down his torso before fully removing it. Dean shuddered from his touch, hating how it was Castiel’s hand that was touching him, but it wasn’t Cas who was in control.

Dean took in a shaky breath, and then spoke, his voice quiet, broken, “I don’t want this.” He wasn’t even sure why he’d said those words. Sam’s pleas for Lucifer to not touch him earlier hadn’t worked, so where did the urge to speak them come from? Maybe it was to tell himself, against what his body seemed to want, that he _didn’t_ want this, that this wasn’t right. Maybe there was still some little spark of hope in him that hadn’t died.

That last little spark was snuffed out by crushing darkness when Lucifer started undoing his belt. “Hmm, let’s see what we got here,” he commented. When he pulled him free, Dean had to bite back a moan. “Nice. Very nice,” he complimented him, his voice low, pleased. His jeans and boxers fell lower, and Dean shook, causing the blood coming from his right hand to splatter onto his thigh. Lucifer noticed, and he licked his lips. He came forward as he began to run his hand over his cock, and he did his best to ignore the way the Devil’s erection pressed against him. “Have you ever been fucked by a man before, Dean?”

“Yeah,” he answered, surprised by his own honesty. He forced a smile onto his face. “But usually they’d pay me afterwards. You gonna pay me?”

“Huh, I wasn’t aware that you’d been a prostitute before. How was it? Was the money good?”

“Well,” Dean started, but then was interrupted as a grunt left him; Lucifer had snuck a hand around behind him to grip his ass, digging his nails in a little bit. “I-I always managed to get enough to make su-sure Sammy had something to eat, especially when Dad would take off for weeks at a time.”

“So brave,” Lucifer breathed. “Exposing yourself to strangers just to take care of your little brother.”

So far they’d been speaking quietly, but Dean still glanced past the Devil to see how much Sam was paying attention. His brother was blurry in his vision, and he couldn’t make out his facial expression. All he saw was way too much of his brother’s skin, and blood. Oh god, there was so much blood.

“Does he know?” Satan asked, drawing his attention back to him.

Dean shook his head.

“Guess it’s time he found out.”

“N-no. Don’t!”

Lucifer addressed Sam, but didn’t look at him - he was too busy crouching down and lowering Dean’s pants even more, “Hey Sammy! Your brother here just told me something rather interesting. You might want to hear it.”

Sam said nothing, so Lucifer went on, “He’s sold himself before. Sexually.”

When his brother spoke, his voice was weak, confused, “What?”

“It was when we were younger,” Dean explained, no longer wanting the Devil to speak for him. “I needed money to feed you.”

“ _God_ , Dean, you… you didn’t have to do that.”

He choked back a sob. “That’s the thing, I _did_. I needed to take care of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” he told him before repeating himself, his voice quiet, “S’not your fault.”

“Aw, you boys, this is so touching. And Dean, sounds like you were too young for that. Who touched you? Were they older?”

Despite his earlier honesty, this time Dean had to force the word out. “ _Yes._ ” The knowledge of what he’d had to do in the past was hurting. Funny, it’d been years since he’d last thought of it, but here Lucifer was, talking to him casually about it.

“By the way, Sam!” Lucifer called out, “Your brother here, he likes men.”

Sam grunted out, “Kinda figured.”

Dean frowned, glancing at him. He _knew_?

“What?”

He saw a blur of motion from his brother, as if he was shaking his head.

“Not… not right now,” he told him. “It’s not… not important. We just have to… get through this first.”

“Sam, you shouldn’t have to be strong for me.”

Dean had been about to say something else, something to comfort his brother, but Lucifer was standing, and was right in his face again. He whispered to him, “Dean, you’re gonna touch me like you want to touch Cas, understand? Otherwise, I’ll just go back over to Sam and fuck him again.”

Dean’s bottom lip trembled, but he nodded his head in understanding. He hoped Sam would be able to forgive him for this, that he wouldn’t judge him.

“I’m gonna take the restraints off, so to speak,” he informed him. “Then you, Dean Winchester, _you_ are going to get on your knees and suck me like you’d suck your angel.”

Horror clenching a tight fist around his heart, Dean nodded.

Satan caressed his face, and then came forward and kissed him. He didn’t kiss him the way he’d kissed Sam earlier. It was filled with lust, but it wasn’t _dangerous_. It was almost like he was trying to pleasure Dean. The older Winchester closed his eyes as he kissed back, letting himself pretend this was Castiel. Dean had dreamed about Castiel’s lips being pressed against his like this, moving passionately, hungrily. A gentle moan was pulled from him when Lucifer nipped at his bottom lip, and then ran his tongue along it. And with his mouth open, he took advantage of it, delving his tongue into him. But he didn’t act like he was trying to claim. It was to get to know him, to explore. He eventually pulled away, and Dean unintentionally leaned forward, seeking more.

The dark angel smiled at him, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

It was then that Dean realized the overwhelming feeling of Lucifer’s power keeping him still was gone. He didn’t know what to do. His body wanted to be touched, but he wanted to fight him, to punch him in the face and try to make a run for it. But he couldn’t do it. He had to do this for Sam.

So he let Lucifer turn him slightly, making it so Sam could see, and when he placed his hands on his shoulders, he began pushing at him. Dean understood and got on his knees.

He had to swallow back bile, his throat burning, when the Devil’s cock was in his face. It didn’t help that it was coated in his brother’s saliva, but what made it worse was that it had originally belonged to Castiel, and it had been used to hurt his brother. He squeezed his eyes shut, and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. 

_Sammy…_

Dean pushed back the memories that were still fresh in his mind, of his brother screaming and crying as Lucifer took him, of his body treacherously growing aroused from having to watch. His vision _had_ gone blurry somewhere in the beginning of it all, but there was no mistaking the way their bodies had moved, no mistaking the loud slap of skin on skin that had echoed throughout the library.

He steeled himself, not entirely sure where the strength was coming from, and he opened his eyes, and took Lucifer’s cock in his uninjured hand. He cradled his other hand to his chest, making sure it was above his heart to try and reduce the blood flow. It was difficult to not squeeze his eyes shut again when he put him in his mouth, to just pretend that this was Cas, that this wasn’t happening, but he had a feeling the Devil would appreciate seeing his eyes. And he’d wanted to show Cas his eyes when he did this for him.

So he looked up at him, trembling as he swirled his tongue around the tip.

Lucifer ran a bloodied hand through his hair, smiling down at him, but it was all wrong. It wasn’t the way Cas smiled. Cas almost never showed his teeth when he smiled, but Lucifer was doing just that, looking much too pleased with this entire situation. God, it was sickening.

The last time he’d given someone a blowjob had actually been a couple weeks ago, on Valentine’s Day. He couldn’t help but still feel shame about it, and he hated that he knew exactly what to do to please a man, hated that he actually _liked_ having another man’s cock in his mouth. It just wasn’t easy being comfortable with himself, and here he was being forced to touch another man, and in front of his brother of all things, and _after_ that very same man had raped him. That last thought nearly had him choke, but he forced his throat to relax, and he slowly began taking more of him in. It wasn’t exactly easy, but Dean was able to fully encase him in his mouth. He was just thankful the dark angel had allowed him to take his time, and hadn’t just shoved himself in like he had done to Sam. 

The urge to bite him rose up in him as he remembered the godawful sounds of his brother choking and gagging, but he kept it together, and began to bob his head up and down, sucking forcefully.

When he took his balls into his left hand and began squeezing gently, a groan left Lucifer.

“Oh, you’re certainly good at this,” Lucifer breathed. He went on, his words interspersed with breathy moans, “S-see, Sam’s… Sam’s good too... when he wants to be, but the difference between you two is that you... actually like men.” A growl tore from his throat when Dean pulled back till just the tip was in his mouth and he licked over his slit, flicking it with his tongue. With his left hand he now pumped him. “Our little Sammy doesn’t.”

Anger surged through his gut at Lucifer using the possessive, and for saying his brother’s nickname, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“Here,” Lucifer said, grabbing hold of his right wrist. “Use both hands.”

Dean looked at him questioningly, and it terrified him that his face was too blurry to properly read his expression.

He pulled him from his mouth.

“But…”

“I know you’re injured, but I’m sure you can do it. You’ll do it for Sammy, right?”

 _For Sam,_ he told himself as he let Lucifer guide his other hand to his swollen balls.

Some of his blood got on him, and Dean cried out as he forced himself to grip him.

“Oh yes!” the Devil cried out. “Mm, I just _love_ blood.”

He groaned, and couldn’t help but lower his head, doing his best to breathe through the pain. Lucifer tightened his grip on his wrist till he was absolutely positive he’d have bruises from it, and with his other hand he raised his chin up.

“No,” he told him sternly. “Remember our little deal.”

Fear stabbed through him as an image of the Devil taking his exhausted and wounded brother again entered his mind. A quiet growl left Dean, but he darted out his tongue and started to lick the Devil’s cock, moving it around with his left hand so he could touch as much of him as possible. He made sure to keep his gaze upwards as he did so.

His breathing became heavy as the pain in his right hand grew, burning and stabbing and aching. It was so hard to not pull away and tend to his finger, and it was frightening that it was still bleeding. He understand that hands bled a lot, but this was different. He could tell. And despite the abhorrent heat of arousal stabbing through him the upper right side of his body was already beginning to go cold.

When he took him into his mouth again and began to deepthroat him a sound left the Devil that spoke of frustration.

“I… I would just _love_ to wrap my hand around your neck, Dean. B-but I don’t think Castiel here - _mmph!_ \- would want that.”

 _He doesn’t even want_ any _of this,_ Dean thought, wishing he could tell Lucifer that, wishing that he would _listen_ , that he would _stop_.

He just wanted all this to stop.

His nails scraped against his scalp as he continued to bob his head up and down, and Lucifer leaned his head back, moaning loudly. His voice was so low from arousal and desire that he most definitely sounded like Cas, and Dean’s cock twitched at the sound of his pleasure.

_It’s not Cas, damn it!_

But he _felt_ like Cas, and he _looked_ like Cas, and he _sounded_ like Cas. This was tearing at Dean’s heart.

Satan finally pulled back from him, and Dean took in a shaky breath. He did his best to ignore the trail of saliva that still connected them for a bit before dripping down to the floor, mixing with the splatters of blood that were already staining it.

“Ah, that’s enough of that.”

He got on his knees in front of Dean, and tugged him forward. Their lips met again, and Dean wrapped his arms around him, knowing this was what he wanted from him, knowing that if he didn’t comply that Sam could be hurt again.

A groan sounded in the library, but it wasn’t from him _or_ from Lucifer. It was from Sam, and it didn’t speak of pain.

His stomach twisted, and there was a flash of anger in him, but he knew, he understood… it wasn’t Sam’s fault that he was aroused from this. It wasn’t his fault that the Devil had made sure to leave him hard before moving onto him. None of this was his fault. But still, emotions were shitty, so his anger stayed. And he poured it out through the kiss, even going so far as to tug on Lucifer’s bottom lip with his teeth. He crushed Dean against him, one strong hand at his lower back, and it was slowly moving lower. Dean’s body throbbed with excitement, and he hated himself.

He breathed in his scent, hating that it was familiar, and opened his mouth to gasp when he felt Lucifer’s hand around his cock. And with his eyes closed, it was so easy to believe it was Cas, especially since he didn’t hurt him. Yes, he was gripping him tightly, but it was just what Dean would’ve wanted from Cas. He’d wanted his angel to be rough with him. And it’s what Cas must’ve wanted too. After all, Lucifer _was_ inside his head.

Those thoughts buried their way into his heart like shards of glass, so he pulled himself away from them, trying to focus solely on sensation. It wasn’t too hard, really, not when he soon felt Lucifer’s own slick, hardened cock against his own, and he had his hand wrapped around both of them, pumping up and down, moving them together.

A shiver ran through him and he arched into him, yearning to be closer, to be touched even more. His wish was soon granted because the hand that had been traveling lower now gripped his ass, and he used his grip to pull him closer, kneading his sensitive flesh.

With his good hand Dean gripped at his jacket and started taking it off. Lucifer licked his tongue into his mouth. Dean tried to kiss back, but the Devil’s hand went even lower, and the finger that was now teasing at his hole made it so he couldn’t even move. Pleasure tingled through him in a gentle, blissful wave, burning and causing goosebumps to rise up on his skin. His mouth was open as he breathed heavily, and Lucifer took full advantage of that, moaning possessively as he explored him with his tongue. And then he began to claim, swirling his tongue in his mouth, nearly reaching his throat. His finger pushed into him easily since it was slick with Sam’s blood and with his own, and he could barely comprehend how good it felt, how good all of this felt.

Dean let himself get lost in it as the Devil fingered his ass and made out with him. He added a second finger, and then a third. And then he found his prostate, pressing against it till Dean was whimpering into his mouth and precum was leaking from his hardened cock.

Lucifer pulled away, licked teasingly at his lips, and then said, “You sound ready for me.”

“Just do it,” Dean got out.

Oh god, he hated the part of him that wanted this, but that was the part of him that was pretending this was Cas. He didn’t want Satan. He wanted his best friend, his angel.

“Oh, I’m going to,” he assured him. “Don’t you worry. I’m going to take _good_ care of you, Dean. But why don’t you finish undressing me first?”

He swallowed roughly and nodded his head. It was difficult to undress him, not that he didn’t want to see Cas’ body - though this wasn’t on Cas’ terms - but it was now very difficult to get his right hand moving, to get it to cooperate. The pain was still there, but it was buried beneath cold; a deep, frightening cold. Even more sweat began to coat his skin, and his heart was beating fiercely, and not just from arousal. This was getting dangerous. And now Dean thought of Sam. He must be experiencing similar symptoms. If he was correct, his brother had lost even more blood than him. They were going to need help once the Devil finally finished with them… if they even lived through it.

His hands shook as he continued undressing him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt once his jacket was off and his tie was hanging loose around his neck.

Lucifer seemed to grow impatient and kicked off his shoes, now lowering his pants even more. He pushed Dean away, and he fell backwards, looking up at him helplessly as he fully undressed himself. And then he was on him, tugging his pants off so that he was just as naked as him, just as naked as Sam.

Dean swallowed roughly, and held his ruined hand to his chest. He chanced looking down at it. It was hard to tell since he was still bleeding, but he thought he saw the white of bone. Maybe it was just his imagination. He hoped that’s what it was, but the deep soreness and the throbbing told him otherwise.

Lucifer licked his lips eagerly as he lowered himself to his knees in between Dean’s legs.

“You’re going to cooperate, right, Dean?”

Fear tightened his already aching throat, a stone forming in his stomach, and he nodded his head.

“Good. Very good.”

And then Satan was running his hands up his legs.

“Just so you know, Dean, Sam…” he broke off and laughed. “Sam’s touching himself.”

He glanced at his brother on pure instinct, but he couldn’t see him. There was just a blur of motion, and a grunt left him.

Dean wanted to get up and punch him in the face.

He definitely understood _why_ his brother was doing that, understood it a little too intimately in fact, but that didn’t change how embarrassed he felt. Dean wanted to sink through the floor and never be seen again, but the Devil’s penetrating gaze was on him, and his skin crawled.

 _Just… just pretend it’s Cas,_ he told himself. _Just pretend it’s Cas._

And he did. He lost himself in the eyes that were his angel’s even though they weren’t quite right. Dean hated himself, wanted to stab himself with the very knife that had nearly took his finger. And that sliver of hatred grew, consuming him as he leaned into the Devil’s touch as he turned him on his side, facing Sam.

“There we go,” he breathed. “I want Sammy to see your face.”

Lucifer lifted up Dean’s left leg, exposing him to him, and then he straddled him. A shiver ran through him when he felt him, hard and yearning at his hole. He held him down as he thrusted into him. He didn’t do it nearly as quickly as he had with Sam on his first thrust, but he didn’t pause either, just sheathing himself in all the way.

It hurt. 

And Dean liked it. He even cried out his angel’s name, and shame burrowed through him, creating a hole in his chest.

Oh god, why did he have to _like it_? It wasn’t as if he’d wanted this, not like this. Without his consent his body pressed himself into him, and a deep groan emanated from his chest. 

Being stretched and filled like this felt so damn good, especially since his confused mind was now telling him it was Castiel. 

The Devil… no, his angel, began to take him.

_It’s just Cas. It’s just Cas. It’s just Cas. It’s no one else. It’s no one else!_

His injured hand spasmed with pain as his muscles tensed, wanting to grip something, and he reached out with his other hand, grabbing hold of the fingers that were pressing bruises into his skin.

Pleasure raced up his spine, up into his gut, up through his cock. And his body reached for it, craving that over the pain in his finger and his eyes. His mouth was open as he moaned, and now two of Lucifer’s fingers were in his mouth. Dean sucked down on them, needing something to ground himself as he was overcome with sensation. The pleasure burned and pounded through him, and the Devil moved powerfully against him, into him, making him hurt, making him feel good. He’d managed to find his prostate and he drove himself against it, leaving Dean a writhing mess beneath him.

And then, something strange happened. His thrusts slowed, his breathing becoming erratic, but not in a way that spoke of him nearing his climax. It spoke of panic.

And then he bowed his head against his cheek, his fingers slipping from his mouth as a tear fell onto his face.

_Castiel._

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he spoke in a shuddering voice.

“Me too, Cas. Me too.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Dean tilted his head so that their foreheads were pressed together, and their tears mixed against his skin. Though it hurt, he put his right hand in Cas’ hair, stroking him gently. And then he brought their lips together.

His angel didn’t pull away.

Castiel began to slowly move against him, being gentle. He felt the despair through his lips, felt the way his angel was being torn apart from this. It was tearing Dean apart too.

Suddenly, Castiel cried out in pain, and he nearly collapsed, his weight resting on Dean.

“Cas? What is it? Is it Lucifer?”

“He’s trying to get control,” he growled out. “It hurts, Dean! Oh, it hurts!”

“Please,” he begged. “Please, don’t let him win.” His voice came out as a whine and his cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

And then he began to move again, harder than before, but something told Dean this was still Castiel. He moved his hand to his thigh, holding it up as if he was trying to delve deeper into him.

“W-what are you - _gah!_ \- what are you doing?”

“He wants this, Dean,” he groaned out. “Maybe… maybe if I cooperate he’ll let me be. He’ll let you be.”

Dean’s stomach twisted in on itself, and his body tensed. Any pleasure he’d been getting from this was instantly converted into pain.

“No, no! Cas, stop! Please stop!”

More of his angel’s tears fell on his face, but he didn’t listen to him. Why was he not listening to him? Why was he doing this to him? Why was his best friend hurting him? It felt like a knife had stabbed into his heart, and with each thrust it was twisted, tearing him further and further apart.

“Castiel, _stop_!”

He didn’t.

A cruel laugh left him, followed by a triumphant yell, and Dean knew the Devil had taken control again.

A sharp pain shot through him, and he flinched, wishing with everything he had that he could escape. The dark angel had torn him inside.

If only his body could relax, but it just couldn’t. The pain was becoming too much, and pleasure was moving in again, overwhelming his nerves as it seared through him. And he pressed into him even though he didn’t want to. He remembered their deal. He had to act like he wanted this.

He no longer did. That sick, twisted part of him that had tried telling him this was Castiel was now silent. The tear inside him had killed it.

And now he knew.

This wasn’t Cas. This wasn’t his friend.

His body trembled, and he bucked up into the Devil’s touch as he grabbed hold of his cock, pumping him, spreading his precum around on his skin.

A cry left him as his body began to move sinuously in time with Satan’s. He would press back against him, making him go deeper, making his body full, pressure burying at him, stabbing into him, and then he’d thrust forward, into his hand. He whined when Lucifer began nibbling on his ear, his breath wafting over his skin.

“Do you… like this?” he grunted out.

“No,” Dean whimpered. “No.”

He chuckled, and then lowered his head, swiping his tongue across his jaw. “ _Good._ ”

His breath was coming in gasps, and his head was spinning, but he kept moving his body. He was just so desperate to not have Lucifer hurt Sam again, and maybe, maybe if he got him to cum then he wouldn’t.

Tingling seemed to take over his body, and there was a war between hot and cold within him, his lack of blood fighting his arousal, fighting his agony. The light seemed to grow brighter, hurting his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut. A cry of pleasure met his ears, and it had come from Sam. Dean growled out in pure shame and frustration and his already flushed cheeks heated even more. Lucifer tilted his head downwards, his tongue delving into his open mouth, making sure Dean knew, that in this moment, he belonged to him.

Light seemed to burst behind his aching eyes, and pleasure ran up his legs, shattering through his entire body. He felt the liquid, sticky heat of his cum landing on his stomach, mixing with his sweat. He screamed, his voice muffled as the Devil pressed their lips together, tongue now reaching the back of his throat. A keening sound left him as Lucifer continued to take him, his movements powerful. In this moment, Dean was so keenly aware of Lucifer’s presence inside of him, and every inch of skin where they touched seemed to be over-sensitive. His entire being was burning, this moment being etched into his memory in stark detail.

And he cried because it felt like Castiel.

Just like the dark angel had done with Sam, he continued past his orgasm, holding him down as he tried to writhe away from him. His insides _hurt_ , the pleasure turning into aching pain. And it got worse when Lucifer began to pump him again. Lucifer pulled back, most likely so he could listen to him scream unhindered. And he did. Dean threw his head back, his throat being scraped raw as his voice ripped out of him. 

Oh god, he hadn’t known that there was anything that could feel like this, that it was possible to be tormented in such a way. And then, the dark angel’s movements grew erratic, more fervent, and he thrusted into him even harder.

“Keep screaming, Dean,” he begged, his voice impossibly rough and breathy.

He didn’t have to be told to do so because he couldn’t even stop. His chest was starting to ache from how long he was holding his scream out. And it turned into a wail as he felt Lucifer’s cock throb before violently emptying into him. His hand on his cock stilled, but his grip tightened, and he bit down into his shoulder, a cry of his own leaving him.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat when he felt his teeth break through his skin, and he just continued to bite deeper, tearing into his muscle. He attempted to breathe, but he only got air in in stuttered gasps.

Lucifer finally stilled, remaining above him for a few seconds, and then he pulled out. Dean whimpered as he rubbed against his sensitive insides.

He let go of him, pulling back, and he was breathing heavily in satisfaction.

Dean didn’t open his eyes, didn’t want to see the look on his face. He idly wondered if he’d even be able to see the look on his face. What if his vision was _still_ blurry? What if his vision was permanently like this? Whines left him as panic took hold.

Lucifer rose, and Dean could hear him moving around. He was most likely getting dressed again.

“So, boys,” he said, his tone awfully casual, “I _was_ thinking of killing you, but then it hit me - leaving you alive would just be so much better. Oh, man, I can’t even imagine the trauma you’ll have to live with.” He giggled, Satan _actually giggled_. “I bet you’ll never fully heal. And now you’ve probably learned to leave me alone. You know what I’m capable of. I doubt you’ll come after me again. If I were you I’d want to stay far, _far_ away. This was great. It really was. I basically just killed three birds with one stone.” He sighed. “Now, for the Hand of God. That _is_ what I came here for after all.” 

Dean heard him walk over to the table the Hand of God had been left on. There was silence, and then: “It’s _kicked_.”

Despite how much he hurt, Dean huffed out a laugh. “Well... Who’d have thought the Hand of God would be a one-hitter?”

There was a thud, followed by a clatter, as Lucifer no doubt dropped the Hand of God back on the table. And then he heard his footsteps as he drew closer. Dean prepared to drag himself away.

Then, out of the blue, there was a bright flash of light that Dean could even see through his eyelids, and a whoosh of energy traveled through the air. The Devil screamed. 

As Dean slowly opened his stinging eyes, he heard sizzling. There was an angel banishing sigil painted in Sam’s blood across the bottom of the pillar nearest his brother. The red light of it died down, and his brother was breathing heavily.

But that wasn’t all he noticed.

Lucifer was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam felt so stupid for not having created the angel banishing sigil sooner. That’s what he’d originally intended to do with his knife, before Lucifer could… before he…

And he’d been too late.

But he just hadn’t been able to think properly. Not with his head spinning, his heart hammering in his chest, his back burning, his very insides throbbing like he was still being taken, his exhausted body still yearning for pleasure. Surely no one would be expected to have the brain capacity to strategize and plan while in such a state. But he felt so very stupid and useless. He’d lain there on the floor, unable to help his brother as he was violated by the Devil. It hadn’t been just the pain. It’d been the aching, searing desire that Lucifer had left him with. It’d taken hold of him so deeply that he’d had to do something about it. There’d been no way around it, and it turned his stomach.

After his climax his head had cleared, at least enough to use his blood to paint the sigil. But Satan had already finished with his brother by then, had already ruined him.

Despite his fears about his own safety, his sole focus was now on Dean. To his knowledge, this was the first time anyone had done something like this to him. Sure, Meg had kissed him once or twice without his permission, and he clearly hadn’t liked it, and he’d gotten some unwanted attention from the occasional demon, but he’d never been raped. Not like Sam had.

His brother had gotten his discarded shirt wrapped around his middle finger, the light blue fabric beginning to turn red with his blood. Maybe Dean had only found the strength to try and staunch the blood flow because now he lay there, his eyes focusing on nothing. An occasional shudder passed through his body.

“Dean?” Sam called out to him, his voice hoarse. Soreness had taken root in his jaw as he’d spoken, and there was a bitter taste on his tongue as he remembered _why_ his jaw was injured.

There was no answer from his brother.

Sam continued speaking as he dragged himself across the floor, trying to get to his jeans so he could grab his phone, maybe call someone for help, “Dean, I know… I know you hurt. Believe me, I know, but we gotta… gotta look out for each other. Come on, we are _not_ dying like this.”

Earlier he’d wanted to die, but now… now he didn’t know. Perhaps death would be better. It’d be more peaceful, for one, but he didn’t want to go like this. This was too inhumane, too pitiful. It wouldn’t be the heroic death he’d always dreamed of, the one that would feel right to him. Dying on the floor of his own home because the Devil had raped him again? No. It wasn’t going to happen.

A grunt left him as he searched through his pockets, the motion hurting his back and his hands. He found his phone, and a dizzying wave of exhaustion crashed over him, causing him to drop it. He groaned in frustration.

“Sam?” Dean asked, his voice quiet, distant.

“I’m here, Dean,” he responded. “I’m here.”

Sam got ahold of his phone once more and began dragging himself over to his brother, hating how difficult it was. His muscles trembled and his breath came in gasps. He got over to him, and lay down beside him, their shoulders touching.

Dean looked towards him, his bloodshot, teary eyes searching his face.

“Are we gonna die?”

“No,” Sam assured. “No, we’re not gonna die.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes.

It tore at Sam’s already broken heart seeing his brother like this. Usually Dean did his best to be strong for him, even when he didn’t need to. It was what Sam was used to. And now Sam - though he was injured more severely, he was sure - would have to take care of him. It seemed like this had all been too much for his older brother’s mind. He was broken.

Sam turned his phone on, and started searching through his contacts. His vision blurred for a second, and his eyelids began to close. It’d be easy. It’d just be so easy to give in to the exhaustion he was feeling, to sink away into darkness. Why shouldn’t he? Surely he deserved to rest. Maybe, maybe he could call someone to help them after he woke up.

Just as Sam started giving in to it, a jolt of panic shot through him. There would be no waking up from this if he fell asleep. Not this time.

He focused and started looking at the names as he swiped his thumb over the screen. His throat tightened when he saw _Castiel_ , and Lucifer using his friend’s voice to scream his pleasure stabbed through his mind. Sam’s body throbbed incessantly.

With shaking fingers, he scrolled past it. Oh god, who could he even call? He didn’t want _anyone_ to see him like this.

The thought of letting himself die crawled its way into his mind again, whispering to him seductively.

_But if I die, Dean dies._

Sam couldn’t have that.

But who to call?!

Not Crowley. No certainly not him. His brother might prefer that, but in the past Crowley had given him some unwanted attention. He didn’t trust the King of Hell to not hurt him while he was vulnerable like this. A shiver ran through him and he winced. Now that he thought of it, Sam never wanted another man to look at him again. Dean of course was an exception. Dean understood. Oh god, he hated how he now understood.

He couldn’t call Rowena. There was no trusting her with something like this. Besides, the thought of her seeing him while he so weak was mortifying.

He nearly jumped when he felt his brother’s fingers gripping at his bicep, curling around him desperately as if he needed to anchor himself.

“ _Why?_ ” he asked, voice cracking on the word. “Why would he…? Why would anyone…?”

Sam tilted his head to him, and he had to close his eyes for a second as his brother’s face swam in his vision. When he opened his eyes again most of his dizziness had left.

“It’s what he does,” Sam explained, his tone flat and harsh. That was the truth of it, and he didn’t know what else to say. There was just nothing to do to comfort his brother. He knew all too well that healing from something such as this was near impossible.

And then the reality of it came crashing down around him. A sob escaped him. 

Again. It’d happened _again_. And this time there was no “dying” and coming back the next day. This wasn’t Hell. This was Earth, where there’d be people who would ask questions, people who would try to tend to him. His stomach clenched with dread. The thought of being poked and prodded by doctors and nurses while in such a vulnerable state sent a fresh wave of terror through him. And he’d be separated from Dean.

He swallowed roughly, and he tried to work up the courage to make the call that he needed to.

Sam knew who would help them. It was someone who wouldn’t judge, someone who wouldn’t panic in a crisis, someone who would remain by their sides. Someone who loved them.

Jody.

He had to call Jody.

Sam took in a deep, shuddering breath, pressed on _Jody Mills_ in his contacts list and put his phone to his ear, doing his best to ignore how much just holding it in place hurt.

“What’re ya doin’?” Dean asked tiredly as the phone began to ring.

“Calling for help,” Sam answered, his voice clipped. 

Right now he was doing his best to detach himself from everything. If he fell prey to his emotions, fell prey to the agony raging throughout him, fell prey to how absolutely disgusting and tarnished he felt, they could both die.

“Who?”

“Jody.”

His brother nodded and leaned his head towards him.

Jody answered and she sounded so cheerful Sam almost wanted to hang up. He didn’t want her to hurt. Seeing them like this would do just that.

“Hey, Sam! How is everything? Funny, I was just thinking about calling you.”

He didn’t have the time or energy for pleasantries, and the phone was threatening to slip from his bloodied fingers, so Sam kept it simple, breathing two words out, “Jody… _help_.”

The phone fell from his hands, and his body went limp.

“Sam!” he heard her yell, voice risen with panic. “ _Sam!_ ”

And he couldn’t answer. Darkness, comforting and welcoming, started to surround him. Sam sank into it, his eyes closing.

 

When there was no answer from the other line Jody’s pulse quickened, and she had to force herself to breathe. Sam had sounded terrible, like something was deeply wrong. And she could feel it in her gut. Urgency pressed in on her, and she pushed aside the rapidly rising tide of emotions before they could drown her rational thoughts. It was something that she’d been trained to do. It was more difficult when a situation hit close to home, but she did it nonetheless, building her dam higher to keep anything from overflowing.

Luckily Jody was right outside the sheriff’s station, having just been about to start her shift, and she rushed inside. She gave a brisk nod to the deputy at the front desk, and went through the glass partition that would lead to the offices. Her colleagues looked up from their desks as they took note of her purposeful stride, the tense set of her jaw.

“Sheriff Mills?” one of them asked. “What’s wrong?” He was a newer deputy, fresh-faced and not yet exposed to the horrors out in the world. There was no mistaking the innocent curiosity that gleamed in his brown eyes.

“I might need to trace a call. Deputy Young,” she began, tilting her head in the direction of a short woman with soft, pale features who had her brown hair tied back in a ponytail, “with me.”

She nodded, and followed Jody into her office.

The door closed and Jody said into the phone,” Sam, are you still with me?” There was no answer. A panicked male voice met her ears, and it spoke of pain. She heard him calling out for Sam.

“Dean?”

A sliver of fear ran through her chest when all she got in return was a frightened and saddened whimper.

She pointed to her computer, and Deputy Young understood, sitting herself down at her desk, hands hovering over the keyboard. Without taking the phone away from her ear just in case Sam or Dean managed to say something, Jody told her the phone number. 

“Get me a location. Hurry,” she urged.

Jody started counting the seconds as they passed, and with each one she willed for one of the Winchesters to talk to her, to tell her what was going on, but there was nothing.

“The phone call’s from Lebanon, Kansas,” the deputy informed her.

 _Shit._ That was at least over three-hundred miles away. It’d take hours to get to them. Jody didn’t know what was wrong, but something in her gut told her that her friends didn’t have that much time.

“Address.”

She read it off to her.

“Sam, I’m gonna get someone to you and Dean, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

Still no answer.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Then, her pulse racing, she hung up, hating that she had to do so.

“Sheriff Mills,” Deputy Young began tentatively, “why can’t you just contact the force in Lebanon and let them deal with it? Surely you don’t have to go down there.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

She opened her door and made to leave, but paused, turning back to her to answer, “They’re my friends. Whatever they’re going through, I’m not letting them go through it alone.”

And then she left.

As she drove to her house, her foot resting more heavily on the gas pedal than was strictly legal, she called the sheriff station down in Lebanon and told them about the phone call, making sure to give them the address as well.

“Will they need an ambulance?” the deputy over the phone asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered, a quiver sneaking its way into her voice. She didn’t know what was wrong. She didn’t know what had happened to Sam and Dean, what help they would need, if anyone would even get to them in time. What if this was all for nothing? What if they were too late?

_No, Jody. Can’t think like that._

She took in a deep breath and then said, “Probably.”

“Do you want a call when we find out more about what happened?”

“Please.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. We’ll be in touch.”

The phone call ended and she heaved out a breath. She was glad more questions hadn’t been asked, that the deputy hadn’t felt the need to pry and find out why she was getting involved. He’d sounded professional, the type who only focused on what was necessary to get the job done.

 _It’s okay,_ she told herself. _Sam and Dean are gonna be in good hands._

Next she called Claire.

“Hey, Mom,” the young woman answered when she picked up. “What are you doing calling me? Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Claire, are you at home?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Pack me a bag. There’s an emergency and I need to go to Lebanon for a bit.”

“Lebanon… Isn’t that… Isn’t that where Sam and Dean live? Is everything okay?”

“I got a call from Sam,” she explained. Her voice caught in her throat and she was unable to go on.

Her heart twinged. Oh god, what if she lost them? Jody wasn’t ready to say goodbye. She’d already watched her family die once before. She wasn’t ready for it to happen again.

“And?” Claire prompted.

“He… he couldn’t say much, just that he needed help. He didn’t sound so good.”

“I’m coming with you,” her daughter spoke, voice determined.

“No,” she told her. “No, you and Alex have to stay behind and hold down the fort.”

“But-”

“No buts,” she snapped. Guilt from using such a harsh tone crept over her instantly, but she didn’t have it in her to apologize. There were just too many worries racing through her mind. After a deep breath she went on in a gentler voice, “I have to go alone.”

There was a pause as Claire thought the situation over. Then: “Okay. I’ll have your bags ready for you when you get home.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Claire hung up without another word, and Jody focused her attention back on the road. She just had to get home, grab her things, and then she’d be off. And hopefully when she got to Lebanon her friends would still be alive. 

 

Dean gently shook Sam, a strange sensation rising up in his chest when he didn’t move.

“Sam?” he got out, voice barely above a whisper. “Sammy? Wake up,” he pleaded. “Please… you gotta wake up.” Nothing. “Wake up!” he wailed.

His brother still remained unconscious. Dean pressed his forehead against him, and his body heaved violently as it tried to sob, but he hardly had any tears left. He reached out with his good hand and held it under Sam’s nose. Air tickled against his skin. Relief rushed through him.

A shiver ran through him as the feeling of Castiel’s body pressed against his entered his mind, of Lucifer… of Lucifer using his angel to hurt him. He sniffled, and he lay there, unsure of what to do.

Surely Jody would take too long to get to them. It’d be too late. The blood that was still seeping from his finger told him that. A puddle of blood was now forming underneath his brother’s still body, beginning to coat Dean’s skin. Time was of the essence.

He heaved himself upwards, his arms trembling with the exertion, his right shoulder wanting to give out on him. His head began to pound. Dean groaned, but he pushed through the pain, and he did his best to roll Sam onto his back. His brother was dead weight.

Not caring how much this was going to hurt, he pressed his right hand over the knife wound on Sam’s back. His finger seared and he cried out, but he didn’t let go of his brother. Dean added his weight to the pressure he was putting on Sam’s back. And there he stayed, his head bowed, pain and exhaustion clouding his mind, sadness and confusion stabbing into his very being.

He didn’t necessarily think as the minutes passed. No, that wasn’t what this was. Instead, those minutes were filled with suffering; suffering in which he relived what had started possibly hours ago. He relived his brother screaming, Lucifer thrusting into him viciously, uncaringly. He relived the knife being plunged into his finger, being forced onto his knees to pleasure the dark angel using his best friend’s body. He relived Cas’ tears falling onto his face as he gently moved in and out of him, relived the torment of his friend trying to fulfill the Devil’s wishes, relived him biting into his shoulder as he came inside him. Dean’s body throbbed and an undignified whimper escaped him. In that moment he was acutely aware of the cum trailing down between his thighs, and he had to swallow back bile and the extra saliva his body started making. He wasn’t sure he even had the strength to puke. 

Dean’s soul seemed to be shrieking, and he didn’t understand. He just didn’t understand.

The burning memories dispersed when bangs sounded on the bunker door. Dean tiredly lifted his head up and tried focusing his blurry gaze. It did no use. There were just fuzzy blobs of color in his vision.

The bangs sounded again, like harsh drum beats. Someone was trying to get in.

Fear clenched a hand around his heart and yanked it upwards, into his throat. But then he realized that whoever was trying to get in had to be friendly. Surely if they were unfriendly they’d be powerful enough to break through the locks and the wardings. But what if… what if something bad was out there? What if something evil was wearing the face of a friend?

_Jody. It’s just Jody._

But wait. That didn’t make sense. She was too far away to get there that fast. Maybe Sam would’ve been better off calling 911. But no, Dean didn’t want that. He didn’t want strangers seeing his home, having access to their safe haven. And what if one of them wasn’t who they said they were? They could get their hands on so much knowledge. They could hurt them.

The banging sounded again.

Jody must’ve called the station in Lebanon. That was the only explanation.

His worn mind tried telling him that he was going to be attacked again, that there was no one friendly on the other side of that door, that they wouldn’t be saved.

With great strain, he ignored it.

Unsure of what else to do, Dean clambered to his feet, wincing as pain lanced through him. 

“Sammy,” he urged. “Sammy, get up.”

He reached down, his head spinning, and weakly tugged at his brother’s arm.

“Sammy…”

A groan left his little brother. 

“We gotta move,” Dean said.

“N-no.”

“Come on.”

“Die.”

That gave Dean pause. “What?”

“Lemme… lemme die.”

Fear stabbed him and conviction flowed forth from the wound. “Not happening,” he growled out.

Adrenaline sparked through his veins, granting him strength. It flooded through him, drowning out his pain, his worries. And somehow, somehow he picked up his brother, putting him over his shoulder. God, he was so heavy. His stomach churned at the wetness of his brother’s blood, sweat, and cum touching his skin, but Dean pushed through it. He had to.

Without thinking he quoted, his own voice scraping against his throat, “ _I can’t carry the ring, but I can carry you._ ”

Samwise Gamgee. He was going to be just like Samwise Gamgee. Here they were at what seemed like the end of all things for them, just like Frodo and Sam; beaten and worn and broken. He took a step forward, his legs shaking. And another step. And then another.

Dean walked from the library to the war room, and he kept going, climbing up the stairs just like Sam had climbed up the rocky side of Mount Doom with Frodo tossed over his shoulder. And just like Frodo, Sam’s breathing was harsh, whistling.

He made it to the door.

Dean placed his brother down as gently as he could, and Sam cried out. His hands were trembling fiercely and the blood that coated them made his grip slippery, but he got the door open. He collapsed to his knees as the blue and red of police lights flashed into his vision, causing his burning and itchy eyes to ache. Sirens wailed.

Help had come, and in that moment, Dean was too grateful to feel ashamed about the state he was in. He was going to be saved. His brother was going to be saved. Hands reached for him, and he lost consciousness.

 

Castiel was trapped.

After Lucifer had...

After…

Lucifer had locked him back in his head, cutting Castiel off from all of his senses. Now he appeared to be in the dungeon in the bunker. He’d already tried leaving, but it was useless. A cold laugh met his ears, and he shivered. It seemed to surround him, echoing off the walls.

His laugh was joined by Sam and Dean’s screams, and Cas covered his ears, backing up till he was against the wall. The sounds of his friends’ agony didn’t stop, and he slid to the floor, a sob escaping him. Tears tracked their way down his cheeks.

He didn’t question why his brother had hurt them, and he realized he should’ve expected it.

“What have I done?”

A voice sounded throughout the dungeon, and it dug into him, causing him to shiver, “You let me in.”

“That was so we could stop Amara!” he shouted out.

He didn’t know what to feel, what to think. He hated himself, he wanted to die, he wanted to go to his friends, he wanted to expel Lucifer, he wanted to know _why_. Why all this?

His brother appeared in front of him, looking like his vessel from the apocalypse, and his dull, blue eyes held pity and amusement.

“Oh, Castiel,” he breathed, crouching down near him. “So naïve. Did you really think that I wasn’t going to try and at least have a little fun with this? You gave me a free ticket. I’m out. Why would I restrain myself?”

“You don’t have to be _this_ ,” he explained in a gruff tone. “I know Dad casting you out hurt, I know the Mark changed you, but Lucifer, you don’t have to be what everyone says you are.”

He chuckled. “What? You mean the Devil?”

Cas nodded.

He flinched as he reached out and caressed his face. Castiel wanted to tell himself that Lucifer wouldn’t hurt him the way he’d used his body to hurt Sam and Dean, but… he just couldn’t be sure. He remembered when they’d first met, the way he’d looked at him. It wasn’t any different from how he looked at anyone else really. He knew Lucifer just saw everyone as objects to play with, to use. Surely he wasn’t any different. 

Their eyes met and he swallowed roughly.

“I _like_ being the Devil, Castiel,” he intoned. “No responsibility, no right or wrong - and now, thanks to you, there’s just freedom.” He slid his hand from his face and stood, beginning to pace. “Of course, I _do_ have to get rid of Auntie Amara, but after that…” he shrugged. “After that I can do whatever the hell I want.” He snickered.

Cas said nothing, and his brother tilted his head at him.

“I’m guessing you’re mad about earlier?”

Now it was Cas’ turn to look at him as if he were stupid. Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Castiel, don’t be like that.”

Anger flared in him and he surged towards Lucifer. But then he found he couldn’t move. His brother looked smug.

“You didn’t have to hurt them,” he growled out.

He shrugged. “So? It was fun. And look what it’s doing to you.” Another laugh left him. “But I mean, you _let_ all this happen. You said _yes_.”

Cas opened his mouth to speak, to argue, but no words came out. They died on his tongue. His brother was right. This was all his fault.

But Castiel had to burrow through his guilt. He had to know what was happening, what Lucifer was doing to them. The last sensation he’d had was of Lucifer emptying inside of Dean. He squeezed his eyes shut, more tears falling. 

_Dean. Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry._ He wished he could tell him that, tell him that he hadn’t wanted this, that he hadn’t wanted to hurt him, that he hadn’t wanted to hurt Sam. Sam… He thought he now understood what humans meant when they spoke of heartbreak. His chest hurt, the pain seeming to actually be something physical, like someone had punched him. Like someone was still punching him. Sam shouldn’t have had to be touched like that, not again. He’d never spoken of it before, but Castiel had been able to tell. There’d been something in his eyes, a pain of some sort, and it’d never left. And now Lucifer had violated him again. He’d violated Dean. And he’d used his body to do it… because he’d said _yes_.

Begging would be useless. He’d witnessed it firsthand, but he had to try.

“Please… Please don’t hurt them again.”

Lucifer sighed, now seeming weary. “Look, I’d love to, I really would, but Sam activated an angel banishing sigil.”

Hope sparked amongst Castiel’s guilt and dark, dreadful shame. “He did?”

“Yep. He’s strong, that one. I’ll give him that.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, and sank down onto the floor again.

“Glad to see I got such a reaction out of you,” he commented. “Maybe I should use your body to do that again, to someone else this time. What do you think?”

Castiel couldn’t respond. He was too lost amongst the shadows of his own despair.

“Eh, I suppose it doesn’t matter what you think. This body’s mine now. Thanks for that. You have no idea how grateful I truly am. I’ll see you later, Castiel. Or not.”

And then Castiel was left all alone in the dungeon, still trapped within the confines of his mind.

The aching in his chest grew, pounding away with each beat of his heart, strengthening till it reached an insurmountable height. Darkness and guilt and pain pressed in around him, slicing and carving down to his Grace, into it.

Castiel started screaming, and he had a feeling that it would be a very long time before he stopped.

 

Sam woke up. And he hadn’t wanted to. But he hadn’t even been able to escape his pain in unconsciousness. Now it was more prominent. There was a wailing noise, and he blearily opened his eyes, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

He was in an ambulance, the space cramped with paramedics, and they were touching him, cleaning him off. His skin crawled, and a sound akin to a growl left him. Though his very soul ached, Sam found it in him to buck against the restraints holding him to the gurney.

There were more hands on him, holding him down, and he cried out. Men. They were all men.

“You’re safe,” one of the paramedics assured him. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re being taken to Smith County Memorial Hospital.”

“Let go of me!” Sam cried.

His struggles renewed when they didn’t listen. Oh god, he just wanted them to stop touching him. Why did people not listen when he told them not to touch him? A chill ran through him, and he was back in the bunker, Lucifer stroking his erect manhood, his grip too tight.

Sensation flared through him and the scene changed. He was on his stomach, the Devil pounding into him, tearing him apart.

_No, no, no. It’s over. It’s over. I’m not there anymore. He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here._

Sam took in shuddering breaths as reality slowly flooded back to him.

Ambulance. He was in an ambulance.

He was being touched.

But they were trying to help him.

His terrified mind didn’t want to believe that, and he had to fight with himself to remain still. Maybe if he focused on something other than the hands on him.

Dean. Where was Dean?

Sam tilted his head, searching for him. His brother was on his left, and there was a blanket covering his unconscious form. One of the paramedics was tending to his shoulder, and another was opening his eyelids, shining a light into his eyes.

Just then, it felt like someone had smashed a hammer against the little finger of his left hand. He screamed, squeezing his eyes shut.

Lucifer was gripping his finger, and he snapped it with ease. His cruel laugh took over his mind, and then he felt his lips against his. And they’d been Castiel’s lips too. Disgust wrenched at Sam’s already weak stomach.

Someone began harshly feeling over the knuckles of his right hand and he took in a shuddering breath.

“He’s gonna need x-rays,” the paramedic said, “but from what I can tell he’s got three fractured metacarpal bones.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” another voice asked.

Sam shook his head, and then instantly regretted it. A burst of pain shot through his skull and dizziness overcame him. He groaned.

“Okay, just try to lie still. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

A paramedic with a notepad and a pen informed him, “Sir, we’ll need to know your blood type.”

“O negative,” Sam responded. “Dean too.”

The one who’d spoken to him reassuringly said, “Okay, you’re gonna feel a slight pinch. The doctors will need to do a blood transfusion when you get to the hospital, so I’m just getting the IV ready.”

There was a prick on his right arm, stinging, and then the sensation burrowed deeper. Mixed in with everything else, Sam just couldn’t take it. A whimper left him and his cheeks heated with shame.

Lucifer’s hands were on him again, but they were familiar, the hands of his friend. And they held him down as he ruined him.

Weariness overcame Sam again, and though his heart was beating fiercely from the hands still touching him, he sank into unconsciousness once more.

 

Lights. There were lights shining into his face, people looking down at him, all of them unfamiliar. All Sam wanted to do was hide. From what he could tell he was being rolled down a hallway. 

“We need a transfusion of O negative blood,” one voice said. A woman. That reassured Sam. “And he needs to be prepped for surgery.”

That last statement sent cold panic through him. It was frightening not knowing what was going to be done to him, and he tried to tell himself that they were simply doing it to help him. But he just couldn’t believe it. He was too tired to fight, so he lay there, his breath coming in harsh, wheezing gasps.

There was a pinching sensation at the inner part of his left arm, followed by a sting that turned into soreness. Doors opened and he was moved into a sterile, white room, cabinets with sharp, metallic objects lining the walls.

His horrified mind conjured up an image of the Cage, and he could’ve sworn he heard chains rattling.

The gurney he was on stopped moving, the straps holding him in place were unbuckled, and more hands were on him. Wires were hooked up to him, and he jerked as ones were placed just above his hips. That was just too close to his groin in his opinion. A pulse ox monitor was placed on his finger, and erratic beeping started up. Sam’s injuries throbbed as he was lifted up and placed on his stomach on a table.

Surgeons moved around the room, grabbing the necessary instruments they’d need, and a nurse was eyeing him intently, probably trying to accurately guess his height and weight. Sam wanted to give them the information, but his mouth didn’t want to move, his aching jaw protesting. 

Numbers were spoken out, and others began talking. There were words he didn’t understand, medical terms, and the heart monitor spoke of his racing pulse. What were they going to do to him? A mask was fitted over his face, and he was met by an awful, overpowering smell.

He was snatched from consciousness once more, falling into swirling blackness.

 

A needle and thread tugging at Dean’s finger woke him. He tried to shift his hand away, but there was someone holding his wrist down.

“Lie still,” a man told him. “I’m almost done stitching you up.”

The beeping of a heart monitor impinged itself on his senses, and the sounds of it only became more incessant as he came to. He opened his eyes… only to be met with colorful blurs. 

_Oh god._

“I-I can’t see,” Dean choked out. “I can’t see!”

“You have damage to your corneas,” the man stitching up his finger explained, his voice eerily calm. “It’s too early to tell, but you may need to wear glasses.”

A tortured moan left him and he closed his eyes again. A tear fell free, sliding down his cheek.

Luckily he didn’t just feel the sensation of the sheet and heated blanket on him. They’d dressed him too, in some pants and a johnnie. It felt good to have clothes on again.

The stinging and tugging at his finger stopped, only for fingers to press at the wound on his shoulder. He winced, his body seizing up.

The doctor tending to him was now pressing tape against his skin, using it to close up the wound.

“This will most likely need stitches later,” he explained, “but since it’s a bite you do have the risk of getting an infection. You might need surgery.”

Dean didn’t respond. He was tired. He was just so tired. How was it possible to feel this terrible and still be alive, to hurt so much and still have his heart pumping blood through him? His throat ached, a sign that he was going to start crying. Dean clenched his jaw, trying to hold it back. A whine slipped out, and then he held his breath, not wanting any more sounds as embarrassing as that to leave him.

“Your name is Dean Winchester, correct?” the doctor asked him.

He nodded and exhaled, trying to keep his breath steady. He didn’t even bother asking how the doctor knew his name. Jody must’ve told whoever she’d contacted.

“Dean, my name is Dr. Michael, and I’ll be taking care of you. Now, do you think you could tell me what happened? I know it’ll be painful to talk about, but it looks like you were raped. The police will want a statement. There’s a deputy standing guard outside your door right now, just until we’re sure you’re not in any further danger.”

His took in the rest of what the doctor had said, but his mind focused on the first sentence, and despite how god damn awful he felt, Dean started laughing. Of course he got a doctor with the last name Michael. Of course! The way his laughter caused his muscles to tense hurt his strained and battered body, but he just couldn’t calm down. 

His breaths quickened, his diaphragm working on overtime, and then he began to hyperventilate. Tears were streaming down his face, dripping off of his chin and jaw.

There was a voice trying to reach him, shouting. A pair of hands was on him, and he shivered, remembering the way Lucifer had held him to him, caressing his skin. And they’d felt like Cas’ hands.

And then he couldn’t breathe. His hands and feet began to tingle, along with the inside of his head. His chest ached. 

There was a prick on his arm, a burning wave, and then nothing.

 

“Sam!” Dean called out. “Sam!”

His little brother didn’t answer him. The sound of him sobbing pierced through him. At the moment he couldn’t tell if his brother was actually near him and crying or if it was just a memory.

He was pressed against the pillar in the bunker again, his eyes burning, the slap of skin on skin meeting his ears.

“Sam!”

He opened his eyes, and they stung as he did so. A racing series of beeps sounded nearby as he frantically looked around. Though he couldn’t quite make out exactly what he was looking at Dean knew Sam wasn’t there. He felt his absence like a hole in his heart.

“Where’s my brother?” he asked frantically, recognizing that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Sh… Dean, it’s okay. Relax.”

It wasn’t till a hand was gently pressing against his left shoulder that he realized he had sat up. He lay back down against the mountain of cushiony pillows, trying to ease the tension in his muscles.

“Where is he?”

“He’s in surgery.”

And now he recognized the calm, reassuring voice. It was Dr. Michael. Dean nearly started laughing again. He blinked, and a growl left him when his vision remained imperfect.

“Is he… is he gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Michael answered honestly. “I can check on him for you if you want.”

“Please.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back. A nurse will be in very shortly to take your vitals again, just to make sure you’re stable.”

Dean nodded, and closed his eyes.

Now that he was all alone he was left with his thoughts.

How long had Sam been in surgery? Just how badly had he been injured? Would he ever be able to forgive him?

It didn’t matter to Dean that he’d been incapable of moving, that Lucifer had restrained him with his powers. His little brother had been hurt under his watch. And he’d been helpless. Despair stabbed at his heart. Oh god, he’d been so helpless, so weak, so useless, so… so… worthless. He was worthless. What good was he if he couldn’t even protect Sammy?

What if Sam was left with lasting physical damage? What if he didn’t make it? He’d just lost so much blood. What if help hadn’t gotten to them on time and he was now dying on the operating table? A shiver ran through him. He couldn’t even comprehend what kind of surgery they were performing on him. He did know one thing though, it was most likely very invasive.

Dean’s skin crawled. Both he and Sam had surely had enough of invasive lately. His cheeks heated as he remembered something Dr. Michael had said earlier. They knew he’d been…

He knew they were bound to find out. All the obvious signs were there, but it still struck a very uncomfortable nerve within Dean. He hadn’t even wanted to be exposed in the first place earlier that day and now even more people had seen him naked. 

But Castiel had been one of those people.

Dean didn’t know how to feel about that. Sure, he’d wanted to eventually have sex with Cas. It’d been something he’d dreamed about, thought about. But he hadn’t wanted what Lucifer had done to him. He had taken Cas’ thoughts and warped them, had used him. Cas had been violated just as much as he had been, maybe even more so since his head was open to be scoured through by the Devil.

A cold stone plunged into his stomach, and it twisted in on it. Dean felt it as an actual physical sensation and he braced his left hand against his abdomen, a grunt leaving him.

The fact that he’d even seen Castiel naked hurt as well. He knew his friend didn’t care so much about things like privacy and sex, didn’t understand those concepts the way humans did, but he remembered _wanting_ to take his clothes off. He’d started trying to even before Lucifer had ordered him to. There was something deeply wrong about that. Oh god… Had he… Had _he_ violated his friend too?

A spark of desire, unwanted and uncalled for, flared to life in him as he remembered the way Castiel had moved inside of him, had kissed him gently, lovingly, even. That had been the only source of light amongst the evils he’d experienced. But then… but then he’d given in to Satan’s wishes, taking him much too forcefully. And Dean hadn’t wanted it.

The treacherous burst of desire transformed into anger, and he clenched his left hand into a fist. He just wanted to punch something. Finding Lucifer and slamming his fist into his face crossed his mind, but the thought also made it hard to breathe. Maybe if Cas ever came back to him he’d punch _him_ in the face.

This was all because he’d allowed himself to be possessed by Lucifer. And he’d given in, hurting him. He just couldn’t comprehend that, Castiel, his best friend, would do such a thing to him.

But he’d done an awful thing as well when he’d tried to undress him earlier.

Then what he was truly feeling hit Dean. Disgust. Profound and disturbing disgust had taken hold of him, had etched itself into his brain, like hammers and pickaxes chiseling away at stone. _He_ was disgusting. He’d gotten aroused from watching and hearing his brother be assaulted. He’d tried to take Cas’ clothes off. The Devil had come undone deep inside of him. He was dirtied, stained, ruined. Broken.

“Mr. Winchester?” a woman asked, careering his thoughts from their downward spiral. He looked to the doorway to the right of the room in pure instinct. He saw a skinny blur of black hair, dark skin, and blue. The blue must’ve been the scrubs she was wearing.

“I’m Nurse Shawna. I’m here to take your vitals.”

Dean nodded his understanding, and breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to calm his turbulent thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was start crying again.

He zoned out as the nurse took his temperature and his blood pressure. It was a struggle to do so because all his mind wanted to do was replay his torture. With his left hand he clutched desperately at the sheet and the other shook, wanting to do the same. Though nearly everything was blurry except for objects that were close to him, he opened his eyes. Maybe if he saw that he wasn’t in the bunker he’d be okay.

But he wasn’t okay. He wanted his home, he wanted his own bed. He didn’t want strangers looking at him, touching him, asking questions. He just wanted to rest unhindered. And maybe never get up again. That seemed like a good option too.

“Your blood pressure’s high,” the nurse informed him, drawing him from his dark thoughts, “but you don’t have a fever yet, so that’s good.”

“Are you expecting me to get a fever?” he asked, his voice sounding distant even to himself.

“It’s possible,” she said. “In the next few days we’ll have to make sure your shoulder doesn’t get infected. I think Dr. Michael has already prescribed you a course of antibiotics just to try and fight it before it even starts.”

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. The blur he saw looked a little familiar, so he supposed it was the doctor. He sat up, asking, “Sam? Is he okay?”

“He’ll live,” he answered. “They got him stable about an hour and a half ago.”

A sigh of relief left Dean, and he lowered himself back down into the pillows.

“Sam is still in surgery,” he went on. “The doctor I spoke to said he could be in there for another one to two hours.”

“What are they doing to him?” Dean questioned.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Dean tilted his head away, his jaw clenching in frustration.

The nurse pulled Dr. Michael aside and they spoke quietly for a bit. Then, he came over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna be okay, Dean.”

He shook his head. “No. No, he’s not.”

 

Awareness reached Sam. Not much at first, all he knew was that he was awake. He was lying on his stomach, a warm blanket covering him. An annoying beeping met his ears, and he just wanted it to stop. He growled out in frustration, and opened his eyes, trying to lift up his head to see where the awful noise was coming from. He couldn’t figure it out. The room was bright, the light hurting his eyes at first.

Proper thoughts couldn’t form, but he knew one thing. He didn’t want to be here.

His face felt wet, but he ignored it. At the most it was just a nuisance, nothing that could really harm him. Besides that he felt almost nothing. He was numb from the waist down, and it felt like his body had been stuffed with cotton.

Sam saw his left hand lying next to him, and his little finger was in a splint. He slowly turned his head, wanting to assess his other hand. His right one was wrapped in bandages, and despair swept in on him. He couldn’t feel his legs, and he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if need be since his hands were injured. 

The beeping grew incisive, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He heard something, someone speaking to him, something was pressing against his lips.

Lucifer thrusted his bloodied cock into his mouth, one hand in his hair, the other wrapping around his throat.

A jolt of fear shot through him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was sitting up, his legs going over the side of the bed. There was a second of relief as he realized that he still had them, but then terror surged up from his stomach. Without thinking, he struck out with his left hand, his fingers balled into a fist. There was a cry of pain from his attacker, and he saw them stumbling away, a hand covering their face. Sam couldn’t really take in their features, just saw a shock of brown hair. 

It didn’t matter, really. He had to get away. He had to.

Tubes tugged at his arms as he tried to rise, and he angrily ripped them out, causing something hot and sticky and red to splatter onto him. He felt the sensation of the needles sliding out of his skin, but no pain. He couldn’t feel any pain, could barely feel anything.

He struggled to his feet, his muscles shaking, not wanting to cooperate with him. The wetness fell from his face onto his chest. Sam took a step forward, preparing to run, but instead, he crashed to the tiled floor. A scream left him and he tried to rise, but he just couldn’t get back up. There was shouting, and strong hands were on him.

He thrashed weakly.

“No!” he bellowed. “ _No!_ ” The next words were hard to form, his lips battling to remain still, but he forced them out, he needed them to be said: “Let go of me! Let me go! Please! _Ple-ease!_ ”

They didn’t listen to him. He tried to get himself out of their grip, but there were arms wrapped around him. His head swam and nausea curled in his stomach from feeling a hard, muscular body against his own.

Sam pitched forward, his body heaved once, and then he puked on the floor. Blood was mixed in with it, his own blood that he’d had to willingly swallow. The taste was sour and metallic on his tongue, and he coughed.

A desperate cry left him as he was dragged back over to the bed, and forced down onto his stomach.

Lucifer’s hands were on his waist, rolling him over so that he’d be exposed to him. The sound of a zipper being undone met his ears, and he felt his erection against him. He squeezed his eyes shut, a moan leaving him.

Leather straps were being wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and people held his arms down as needles were put back into him. Then, gentle, feminine hands were feeling over his back, lifting up the johnnie that’d been covering him.

There were men dressed in black standing around him, and his heart crawled its way up into his aching throat. But they didn’t touch him, just the woman who was checking him over. Her touch didn’t bother him so much, but her presence was still unwanted. Sam just wanted to be left alone, never to be seen or spoken to ever again. He didn’t want to exist. Why did he have to exist?

Anger burned through him when it came to him why he existed. He existed for Lucifer to be inside of him. And his numb insides began to ache, phantom pains of the Devil stretching and filling him, tearing him apart.

A shudder ran through him. There were more voices, and the men left.

“Sam, do you think you can drink anything?” a sweet voice asked. 

He swallowed roughly, remembering the last thing he’d had to drink: his own blood. He wanted to change that.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “I-I think so.”

He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt something pressing against his lips again, but he told himself it was only just a straw. And it was. The drink was bubbly and sweet; ginger ale, maybe.

At first his stomach wanted to protest against having anything in it, gurgling angrily, but then it calmed. The straw was pulled from his lips and he forced himself to take a deep breath. Things were starting to make more sense to him. He was waking up from surgery.

The woman spoke again, and Sam thought she was probably a nurse. “I have to look under your bandages to make sure you haven’t pulled any stitches out.”

“Sure,” Sam muttered.

Now he was starting to hurt, just a little bit. Whatever they’d given him for the pain must still be in his system, but he’d probably injured himself further when he’d tried escaping. He still wanted to escape.

Cold air met his skin as his bandages were lifted up, and the nurse made a small, pitying sound. “You might feel a tugging sensation,” she explained a second later. “But the morphine should keep you from feeling anything else.”

Her gloved hand was at his back again, and his mind flashed to Lucifer pressing down into the wound. His muscles tensed, and his breath wouldn’t come to him.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked, taking her hand away.

“N-no…” he got out. “No. Not you, not you.”

“Okay. Just let me know if you feel any pain.”

Then what he’d done about a minute ago hit him. He’d hurt someone.

“Who did I… who did I… hurt?”

“One of the other nurses,” she answered, as she moved about the room, collecting what she would need from cabinets and drawers.

“Are they okay?”

“Probably. He’s got a bloody nose, though.”

“Oh.”

Sam didn’t know what to feel about that. He hadn’t meant to hurt an innocent person, but he’d been _so sure_ that they were going to hurt _him_. He’d been positive that he was getting attacked again.

The nurse’s hands were at his back again, and he began to feel slight tugs against his skin. He winced, and a memory of his knife slicing into him pounded itself into his mind. He groaned, and pulled at his restraints. He had to get away. He just had to.

“Sam, please, you have to lie still.”

He didn’t listen, continuing to tug at the leather straps around his ankles and wrists. Burning and stabbing sensation burst to life in his back, and a whimper left him. More of the wetness fell from his face, onto his pillow, and he realized what it was. Tears. He was crying.

Despite his struggles, the nurse continued her work, and she spoke soothing words to him the whole time. But he didn’t take any of them in. The words were empty, meaningless. 

The stabs of agony faded and he heaved in a breath, his muscles relaxing somewhat on the exhale. The nurse had finished with his stitches, pulling his bandages back over him. He wanted the sheet and blanket over him again as well, but she didn’t do that. Instead he felt her reaching for the pants he’d been put in.

Sam renewed his struggles.

“ _No, no…_ ”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she told him. 

A harsh, cynical laugh bubbled up out of his chest.

“I just have to make sure you’re not bleeding from any of the surgical sites,” she explained.

That did make sense, but his emotions weren’t running on logic. They were running on pure fear, and the fear was urging him to find a way to slip his restraints, to get up and leave the bed. A deeper part of him was even telling him to attack the nurse, to hurt her before she could hurt him.

His pants were pulled down, and a warning growl left him. He pulled and pulled at the straps on his wrists, but they held. There was pressure. He was being touched again. Because of the morphine being pumped through one of his IVs the sensations didn’t reach him as intensely as he’d expected. But they were there alright. She was spreading apart the cheeks of his ass, one finger slipping lower. Heat flooded him, only for cold to rise up and combat it. His confused and weary body trembled. And then her hands were moving again, reaching under his hips, groping at his length.

The Devil was tugging his erection in a manner that could almost be described as aggressive, and his hips thrusted into him at a wild pace. Searing pleasure and agony clawed into him, leaving hooks beneath his skin.

Sam’s body bucked into her touch, and he bit the pillow, ignoring the way doing so hurt his jaw. Tears fell from his closed eyes, and his cheeks reddened. A lance of shame stabbed through the very center of his chest, and it was pushed through him till it came out the other side. Disgust crawled its way inside of him, making a home within.

The nurse said something, but Sam didn’t comprehend her words. He was too busy breathing out a sigh of relief because she was no longer touching him, and she’d pulled the blanket back over him. He tried to ignore the fact that his pants were still down. But then she left his side, and the door opened. Sam turned his head as he heard footsteps, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach when he saw two men entering the room.

He wanted to open his mouth and ask what was going on, but no words came to him.

The nurse was walking back over to him and she explained, “Sam, they’re just here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself again.”

There was a silence at the end of her words, something unspoken. Sam knew what it was. They were there to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else.

She went over to the left side of the bed and he could no longer see her. Sam kept his eyes on the security guards, watching them as intently as they watched him.

“Sam, look at me,” she intoned.

He clenched his sore jaw, but didn’t do as she said. He wasn’t going to turn his back on those men.

“Sam, please,” she said. “If you turn this way they won’t have to see.”

That caught his attention.

“Huh?”

He turned his head to her, and then she started reaching for the leather strap around his left wrist. “I need to put you on your side, okay? You’re bleeding, so I’m going to need to put some pressure on it.”

He frowned as she went and undid the strap on his left ankle. “W-where am I… bleeding?”

The nurse looked up at the security guards, and then told him in a quiet voice, “Your penis. The surgeon had to perform a visceral angiogram to determine how much damage you have to your gastrointestinal tract.”

Sam’s cheeks colored at the first sentence, but then he was confused by what else she’d said. He didn’t feel like asking for her to explain further. Perhaps it was better not knowing what had been done to him. It was over now. That’s all that mattered. 

She helped him roll onto his side, making sure the blanket stayed over him so that the security guards in the room couldn’t see more of his skin. He was at least thankful for that. A grunt left him when the nurse pressed some gauze to his groin, and he closed his eyes.

Exhaustion pulled at him, his eyelids feeling heavy. Sam just wanted to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t, not while he was being touched, not while there were others in the room.

His mind wandered, back to the bunker library, but now instead of reliving being violated, he was reliving watching his brother be violated. Oh god, he hadn’t been able to do anything to save him. He hadn’t even been able to get Lucifer to finish with him in time to save his eyesight. Now his brother was damaged. 

“Where’s… where’s Dean?” he asked, having difficulty forming the words. “Where’s my brother?”

“He’ll be okay.”

Sam wasn’t sure he believed that. He wanted Dean with him. He wanted to see him, to know that he was safe. And he wanted his older brother because he was terrified without him. Sam didn’t like how helpless he felt, didn’t like that he couldn’t control what was happening to him, what was being done to him, what had been done to him.

His tears fell anew, and his throat tightened. He just wanted to be held by his older brother, and in that moment, he was too hurt to care how very childlike that thought was. He just wanted Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mr. Winchester, we’re trying to help,” the deputy repeated. 

It was the next morning, and Dean had slept restlessly all night, his dreams interspersed with torment and screams and blood and the touch of skin against his. Dr. Michael had already been in to give him some pain medicine and antibiotics and had explained the extent of his injuries, had even told him about a procedure he’d need later in the day. Another nurse, not the one from the day before, had tried to get him to eat, but he hadn’t been hungry, so the tray was left abandoned on the table beside his bed. Now a deputy was in the room, sitting in a chair across from him, a notepad and pen in his hands.

He resolutely looked away from him. Looking at him didn’t matter anyway. He was too far away for Dean to really make out specific features.

“Forensics is already running some tests, but I need you to fill in the blanks for me. You were attacked, and I’m just trying to make sure that that person can’t hurt you again.”

Dean didn’t respond.

There was nothing the police force could do against Lucifer. There was hardly anything that could be done to stop him. If the Devil really wanted to he could track him down and take him again, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. They’d be just helpless as he had been… either that or dead.

“Mr. Winchester, I need you to answer my questions.”

Still nothing. There was nothing to say. None of it mattered. And Dean could hardly comprehend the words. He was aware of the deputy’s presence, aware of the man getting frustrated with him, but he was too lost in his head to respond. His mind wandered. 

He was in the bunker library, with Sam. With Castiel. With Lucifer.

There was a hand on his face, and his head was turned towards the deputy who was now mere inches from him. He leaned over the bed, his face flushed with what could only be anger, and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Dean took all these details in, but they didn’t stay for long.

Library. He was in the bunker library.

Screams met his ears, the thick scent of blood nearly slamming into his nostrils. Touch. He was being touched.

The deputy snarled something, but he didn’t know what. Then there was another voice, a few tense moments, and the deputy was gone, replaced by Dr. Michael.

Dean giggled. Oh, the irony of having a doctor named Michael. He’d been there a whole night already and he still couldn’t get over it.

“I’m sorry about him,” Dr. Michael said. “If I’d been here I wouldn’t have even let him into your room.”

Dean tilted his head towards him, and squinted in his direction. Dr. Michael was now sitting where the deputy had, his presence sturdy, protective, though he still remained a blur in his vision.

“What?”

His doctor went on, as if Dean could understand what he was saying, “Given what you’ve been through, talking to the police isn’t mandatory if you’re not comfortable.”

He took in the last word. Comfortable. What was _comfortable_? All he knew was this stupid hospital bed and the slightly scratchy fabric of the johnnie and the annoying beeping of the heart monitor and the tug of the IV at his arm if he moved it too far and the throbbing aches of his injuries. And the library. The pain that had taken hold of him in the library. In his _home_.

A quiet, breathy sound left Dean.

Still, Dr. Michael continued to speak, almost as if he was trying to draw him back from his addled and weary haze, “Deputy Sumner’s been around here a time or two. He never gives my patients any respect. Not the men anyway, not when they’ve been hurt like you have.

Right. He was a man. According to a large number of people him being violated shouldn’t have even been possible. He should’ve been strong enough to fight. Or maybe he wanted it. But he hadn’t wanted it, and he hadn’t been strong enough. Shame breathed its poison into him, and he closed his damaged eyes, not wanting to deal with the world anymore.

Sam. He just wanted Sam.

 

“Yes, thank you,” Jody spoke into the phone, her voice even, quiet. “Yes, I understand.”

The sheriff at the station in Lebanon hung up, and she put her phone down with a shaking hand. Tears blurred her vision, and she abruptly pulled over. All Jody wanted to do was to keep driving. She was almost at the hospital in Lebanon after driving all night, only making a few stops to use the restroom, grab some coffee, and change into the clothes Claire had packed for her. Now, she was almost to her friends. But the news she’d been given was trying to strangle her.

“Oh god,” she breathed out. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

Raped. Sam and Dean Winchester had been raped. And from what the sheriff had told her the attack had been extremely violent. He’d seemed baffled. It was clear to him that a human had attacked them, but there’d been an uneasiness in his tone, a sign that there were some facts he couldn’t make sense of. Something else was going on.

Who, or what, had hurt her friends?

Jody hoped the information the sheriff had obtained simply came from the crime scene and from reports from the paramedics. Anything else, whether it be questioning, or tests run by forensics, would be pushing it close to violating Sam and Dean’s rights. That was the last thing they needed at the moment.

She wiped her tears from her face in frustration and forced herself to take in a deep breath. Her exhale was shaky.

Seeing them so injured was going to be difficult, and she knew that no matter how much she prepared herself for it, it wouldn’t be enough. She would just have to do this. She had to be there for them. As far as she knew, there was no one else. She was all they had.

With her hands shaking more than she wanted them to, Jody pulled her car back onto the road, and continued driving.

In half an hour she was at the hospital. It was a Monday morning, so the building was quiet. It was as she expected. As a sheriff she knew that Monday mornings tended to be rather slow, which, in her line of work was a good thing. 

There was a young woman with long, blonde hair sitting in a chair in the corner of the sparsely decorated waiting room, filling out forms. She looked up when Jody entered, and she saw dark, ugly bruises covering her face. Her gaze seemed haunted. 

Jody quickly looked away, dragging her attention to a plump, middle-aged woman dressed in white scrubs sitting behind a desk. On the wood across the front of the desk were gold letters reading _VISITORS_. She made her way over.

Not in the mood for pleasantries, especially after having driven all night, Jody got right down to business, “I’m here to visit two patients; Sam and Dean Winchester.”

The woman frowned slightly, clearly not liking her no-nonsense tone, but then turned to her computer. Her fingers clicked at the keys. 

“The doctor isn’t allowing Sam any visitors right now.”

“Why not?” Jody asked, unable to control the frustration and slight fear that seeped into her voice.

In a bored tone, the receptionist responded, “It says in his file that he’s still in critical condition, and that he may be a danger to himself and to others.”

Jody frowned. That last part didn’t sound like Sam. Oh god, he must be hurting so much if he was lashing out at people. An ache formed in her throat, and she had to clear it.

“And when will he be allowed visitors?”

“I’m sorry, miss, but that’s up to the doctor. And as far as violent patients go, hospital policy states that at least twenty-four hours has to pass since their last incident before they’re deemed safe for visitors to be around. It looks like his last incident was a little under six hours ago.”

“And Dean? What about Dean?”

More bored typing.

“He’s allowed visitors.” She turned to her, and pushed a clipboard with a pen towards her. “I’ll just need you to sign in and get a visitor’s pass.”

She leaned down and filled in the information rather quickly, her messy handwriting speaking of her worry.

The receptionist took the pen and clipboard back from her and then handed her a visitor’s pass as she informed her, “He’s in room 311, third floor.”

Jody forced a smile onto her face, and given the circumstances it probably looked more like a grimace. She clipped the badge to the front of her shirt, and headed to the left, where she saw the metallic gleam of elevator doors.

On the way up she had the elevator all to herself, and she decided to text Claire and Alex, just to let them know she’d arrived safely. Doing so was difficult since her thumbs kept tapping on the wrong letters, but by the time the elevator doors opened onto the third floor she’d sent them a text assuring them that she was safe.

Finding room 311 was fairly difficult. There were lots of twists and turns, and she’d had to ask at least one person for directions. Her phone, which was now in her pocket, buzzed a few times on the way there. That’d be either Claire or Alex, or both, but she didn’t bother checking at the moment.

There was a dark-skinned police deputy standing outside the door, his posture rigid, and he towered over her. But that didn’t intimidate her in the slightest.

“I’m here to see Dean,” she informed him.

He looked her over with a shrewd gaze. “Name.”

“Sheriff Jody Mills.”

“Sheriff,” he scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Jody ignored his comment that was probably sexist and said tersely, “I’d like to see Dean Winchester.”

“Uh huh. And how do I know you’re not a danger to him?”

That did it.

“Look, pal,” she began, stepping up to him, “I just spent six hours driving here from Sioux Falls, South Dakota because I heard my friends were in danger. They called me, and I was the one to get word to the station, so I’m not even on the list of people who would dream of hurting them. And if I wanted to cause Dean Winchester harm, do you really think I’d just go up to the door and ask to be let in? I’m not a threat to him, and I’ve had a _very_ long night, so you better let me in to see him this instant, or I _will_ make a formal complaint to Sheriff Kaminski. What’s your name, deputy?”

His eyes seemed to widen more and more with each stern word that left her mouth, and he took in her tense stance, and the determined set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes. He swallowed roughly, and said, “You can go right in.”

Jody stepped back and straightened her shirt a little, giving him a terse nod. “Thank you.”

She stepped into the room.

Jody hadn’t been sure what she was expecting, but what she saw struck cold into her stomach. Dean was lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV. His right shoulder was heavily bandaged, as was his right hand. There were bruises marring his wrists in dark shades of blue, black, and purple, and she even saw one where his johnnie had slipped off his left shoulder a bit. But the worst of it were his eyes. They were an irritated red and his gaze was unfocused, almost dreamlike, like he wasn’t all there.

He didn’t even turn his head to her as she entered.

Jody closed the door behind her and slowly went over to him.

“Dean?” she said quietly. “Dean, it’s me. It’s Jody.” 

She took the seat that had been left by the bed, and his brows furrowed as he thought. After a few seconds he turned his head to her, and his eyes searched her face.

“Jody?”

She nodded. “I’m here, Dean.”

His bottom lip trembling was all the warning she got before his eyes teared up and then those very same tears were trailing down his face. She reached out to hold his uninjured hand, and he gripped her tightly, till it nearly hurt.

“Jody,” he whispered.

That ache returned to her throat, and the image of her injured and crying friend blurred in her vision. Her motherly side took over, a fierce tugging at her heart, and she carefully joined Dean on the bed, holding him to her. He sobbed into her shoulder, and she looked up, blinking fiercely.

Dean was strong. From what she knew of his life, he’d always had to be. He always seemed to bounce back from things, to still have a smile on his face when he visited her. He persevered. It was what he did. Yes, there’d been pain, the dark memories of what he’d been through. But he’d never broken down like this in front of her, had never had to be held by her. Had never been hurt like this. To see Dean, one of the best hunters in the world, her friend, reduced to this, it burrowed another hole into her already injured heart.

“I’m here,” she soothed quietly as she gently ran her hand over his hair. “I’m here, Dean. I’m here.”

“I-I-I… w-want Sam!” he cried out in a tortured voice. “Want Sam!” A whimper left him before he uttered another word, “Sammy.”

In that moment Dean no longer seemed like a grown man. He was a child, hurting and frightened.

“He’s gonna be okay, Dean,” she reassured, a tear sliding down her cheek and into his hair. “I’m sure he has a very good doctor taking care of him.”

“He’s h-hurting, Jody,” he told her. “He’s hurting.”

“Sh… You are too. You need to relax.”

“I-I gotta t-t-take… care of him!”

“You can’t do that until you take care of yourself.”

A deep growl left him and then another sob shook his shoulders. And Jody couldn’t help but worry what kind of strain this was putting on his worn body. She felt so helpless, unsure of what to do, how to help, how to comfort him. He just seemed so… lost.

A bittersweet memory came to her, pulling painfully yet gently at her chest. She was holding Owen again, her little boy. His head was cradled against her chest, his eyes closed sleepily, and she was humming a lullaby to him, a hand stroking through his soft, pale hair. The name of the lullaby was unknown to her, it was something her parents had always sang in order to put her to bed when she was little, and she’d done the same for Owen. Jody hadn’t thought of the tune in years, and for a second, the memory of it was interrupted by a gunshot. Sam killing Owen, or what had _been_ Owen. The loud bang left her mind, and she began to hum, her tears continuing to fall as she did so.

She no longer had Owen. No longer had her husband. But now she had her two beautiful daughters. And she had Sam and Dean, and they needed her. But in this moment she could only comfort Dean, and she did the best she could. When she finished the song she started it over again, and her friend’s sobs were quieting down into gasps and sniffles. 

Upon finishing it a second time he pulled back from her, and wiped his tears away. Jody did the same with her own, and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

And then he laid back down, shifting a little to try and get comfortable. A grunt of pain left him and he gritted his teeth, but then his body relaxed. Now that Dean was calm again, Jody took the time to look around the room. It was a comfortable size, not too big, not too small. The walls were a light blue, and the floor was stark white. Across from Dean’s hospital bed was a counter and a sink, cabinets lining the wall above it. Nestled into the corner was a plush, black leather chair. On the far side, opposite the entrance, was another wooden door, and Jody assumed it led to a bathroom. There was a little plastic table next to Dean’s bed and she noticed an untouched tray of food resting atop it.

“Are you hungry?” she asked Dean.

He didn’t answer. His eyes had taken on that dreamlike quality again, but their green depths spoke of nightmares.

“You should really eat something,” she told him.

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“How are you going to get better if you don’t eat?” she tried to reason with him. “You want to get better so you can take care of Sam, right?”

His eyes seemed to focus a little and his lips set in a frown. “For Sam,” he murmured, and then he tried reaching over to get the tray. He grimaced as he doubled over, his left hand against his injured shoulder. Jody was off the bed in an instant, going around to grab the tray for him. When the pain seemed to subside she gently set it down on his lap. 

Dean took the cover off, rested it on the bed, and began to slowly eat the eggs and bacon that were on the plate. He’d needed help opening the small carton of orange juice he’d been given since it required two hands, and Jody saw the frustration in his eyes as she reached over to do it for him. She handed it to him, and a tear slid down his cheek, but he nodded his head once in thanks, and took a sip.

They were quiet as he ate, and watching him struggle with it was so hard. It wasn’t just the difficulty he had with only being able to use one hand, it was the hurt look in his eyes. His body wasn’t just injured. His pride had been as well, his sense of self. 

When he was done, Jody set the tray aside for him. She was worried about the silence that would most likely follow, unsure of what to say. Was there anything that she could even possibly say? Being hurt in the way he’d been was unfathomable to her, something evil. But she wanted to know what had happened, yearned to find whoever had done this to him so she could put a bullet through their head. Usually such violent desires weren’t in her, but seeing Dean broken like this did her in. And if Dean was this bad, what was Sam even like? What was he going through? She couldn’t even imagine. She looked down in her lap, the sight of him like this causing her too much pain.

Maybe a minute or two passed, and then he uttered, “Procedure.”

She lifted her head up. “Hmm?”

“The doctor said I have to get a procedure later today.”

She swallowed past the lump of emotion in her throat and then said, “Do you know what kind of procedure?”

He nodded, but didn’t go on.

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a small voice.

Jody reached out to give his uninjured hand a reassuring squeeze. “They’re just doing what they have to to take care of you.”

“I know, but… I have to be awake… for the procedure.”

She winced sympathetically. That wasn’t going to be enjoyable. No wonder he was scared, especially after having been in so vulnerable a position the day before. 

Dean didn’t seem like he wanted to share any more details about the procedure, so Jody didn’t press him. More achingly silent minutes passed, and her friend still didn’t let go of her hand. 

“I might need a surgery on my shoulder,” he explained. “Could get infected.”

“How come?” He turned his gaze away. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You… you won’t hurt me. You won’t hurt me.”

Those last words were meant for himself, Jody knew, assurance that he actually was safe. It didn’t bother her that he had to tell himself that about her. She’d had to work with a few people before who had gone through trauma, and this was one of the things they tended to do. That verbalization of their safety seemed to help them.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” she asked him, trying to keep her tone gentle. Anger was burning in her stomach, and she just wanted to know what had happened, wanted to hunt down whatever thing had done this to him. If it was truly a _thing_ that had done it, and not a human. Even then, finding them definitely wouldn’t be a bad idea.

He shrugged, a slight lift of his left shoulder. Dean took in a deep breath and turned to her. His gaze was haunted, still unfocused, and then it hit her why he was looking at everything like that. His vision had been impaired. There weren’t a lot of ways to do that without causing even more severe damage to the eyes than it looked like he had, so that meant someone or something must’ve forced him to keep his eyes open for a long stretch of time. But there were no bruises or swelling around his eyes, no signs that any physical thing had been placed on him to keep him from blinking. That meant something had been able to do it without even touching him, could’ve even done it with hardly a thought.

Oh god, what were they dealing with?

She was drawn from her thoughts about Dean’s damaged eyes when he told her, his tone detached, “He… He bit my shoulder. Bit deep. There was a lot of blood.” A shudder ran through her, but Dean didn’t stop, his words now coming out more quickly, “But I wasn’t bleeding as much as Sam. He slashed up Sam’s back before he…” He swallowed roughly, his eyes becoming watery. “I couldn’t move. He made it so I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. He wanted me to watch. I couldn’t do anything, Jody. Nothing.” The last word was a broken whisper. “And Sam…” He paused again, steeling himself. “Sam just wouldn’t stop screaming, a-and no matter how many times I begged him to leave my brother alone… he wouldn’t. I thought… I thought maybe he could just have me instead and he’d be content. But… But he was so insistent on starting with Sam, on tearing my little brother apart.” His bottom lip was trembling again, and his low voice had risen, cracking every so often as he tried to keep going. Dean bowed his head and sniffled. “And then… and then he used me to get to Sam, to make him do things. H-he nearly cut off my finger.” A breathy sound left him. “And he used Sam’s knife to do it. When… when he was done with Sam, he… he hurt me. He touched me, Jody, and I didn’t want him to. I didn’t… I didn’t want him to.” He shook his head. “Didn’t want it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t.”

She leaned closer to him, now holding onto his hand with both of hers. “Sh… sh… I know, Dean. I know you didn’t want it.”

He took in a shaky breath and then looked to her. “You do?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“But-”

“No buts,” she insisted. “You didn’t want it and that’s that. It doesn’t matter how your body may have reacted, it doesn’t matter what people may say about men always wanting sex. None of it matters. What matters is that you _know_ you didn’t want any of it. This isn’t your fault, Dean.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?”

And that was a question Jody didn’t think she was able to answer, so she responded honestly, “I don’t know. But we’ll figure this out together, okay? You don’t have to be alone. I will be here as long as you need me.”

And then, of all things, a small smile graced his features, and it even seemed to light up his eyes a little. “Huh…” he mused. “Kinda like having a mom.”

Jody smiled back at him, but then turned away. She was unsure of how to ask her next question. Maybe it’d be better to just say it.

“Dean,” she began softly, now looking into his eyes, “who or _what_ hurt you?”

He shook his head slightly, lowering his gaze. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m a hunter. Of course I’ll believe you.”

“But this… it goes beyond what you’re used to dealing with. Beyond anything.”

She saw the muscles in his abdomen tense, and his breathing hitched, as if he was holding back tears.

“It’s too much. It’s all too much. I don’t understand it, Jody. I just don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?!” he suddenly shouted, drawing his hand back from her, lifting his head up, his gaze now fiery. “What am I supposed to do, huh?! Am I just supposed to live with this? Live with this _pain_ inside of me? How can anyone be expected to do that?! And what about Sam?! What is he supposed to do?! I don’t understand how we’re expected to continue living our lives after _this_! He… he broke us, Jody. He broke us.”

Dean’s anger subsided, and another tear was rolling down his cheek.

His voice cracked as he said to her, “I’m broken. Oh my god, I’m broken.”

“Dean-” Jody began, not really sure what she was going to say, but he cut her off.

“Go.”

“What?”

“I want to be alone.”

“But-”

He sat up, his pain and his fear and his anger surging through him, his cheeks flushing. “ _Go!_ ”

Jody’s throat tightened, but she nodded her head solemnly and stood. And she left, leaving her injured friend all alone and hurting. And there was nothing she could do.

 

Sam had slept peacefully the rest of the night, probably due to whatever medication he was on. Part of him was terrified that he’d been asleep, unaware of what was going on around him, but another part was thankful for the escape. Not even nightmares had reached him.

But now that he was awake he was aware of everything again, aware of how he’d been hurt, where he was, the fact that he was still lying on his stomach, his wrists and ankles with leather straps around them. He just wanted the restraints to come off. He wanted to know that if he had to fight, he could, that if he had to run, he could.

_But maybe I can’t._

His body didn’t hurt like he had expected it to. He still felt numbed to sensation. But that didn’t stop his mind from going over what had happened, from conjuring up memories of pain and pleasure. A despairing groan left him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. There wasn’t much in the room to see anyway. He was all alone.

Sam didn’t like that he was all alone. He wanted to see Dean, had to know that his brother was alright. Well, as alright as he could be given the circumstances. And it was his fault. It’d been all his fault. If he’d been able to draw the angel banishing sigil in time, Dean wouldn’t be in the hospital with him. He’d be in the bunker, probably cleaning his blood off the floor.

Another sensation began making itself known to him, and he cursed his body. Sam really, really had to pee. He opened his mouth to call in a nurse, but then a quiver of fear ran through him.

_Damn it, you’re safe!_

But he didn’t feel that way. Not while he was restrained and injured, not while there were others that could walk into the room and have their way with him. Maybe he should just lie there and wait.

_That’s stupid,_ he told himself.

It wasn’t like the feeling was going to just go away on its own. 

A frustrated growl left him and just as he opened his mouth again to call someone in, his jaw aching, he heard the door open. Sam twisted his head around to see a small, brown-haired man in green scrubs enter the room. He was holding a clipboard.

“Sam, right?” he asked, his tone conversational.

Sam didn’t grace him with an answer. He kept his eyes on him as he walked closer, coming within a range that would be suitable if he wanted to harm him. 

“I’m here to check your vitals,” he informed him, “and to make sure that you didn’t bleed at all throughout the night.”

A shiver ran through him as he came closer, and Sam tensed, his injuries protesting at that. Before he could lose his nerve he admitted, “I have to pee.”

The nurse looked up from his papers, and pressed his lips into a thin line. It might’ve been Sam’s imagination, but his face went a little pale. He must’ve heard about the other nurse that he’d punched.

He took in a breath and then nodded, going over to place the clipboard on the bedside table. “Okay, I’ll just go get security.”

“No,” Sam protested, his voice thick with fear. “No security.”

“Sam, you broke a nurse’s nose last night. I’m sorry, but it’s a precaution for my own safety. And for yours.” The last sentence had almost seemed like an afterthought.

“No,” he repeated. “Please no. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

The nurse studied his eyes, and Sam found himself looking away uncomfortably, his cheeks growing red with shame.

A minute passed and Sam’s bladder really didn’t appreciate it, but finally the nurse came over and started undoing the straps. His skin crawled when his fingers accidently brushed against his wrist, but he lay still, trying to contain the panic slowly rising in him from being touched again, from being alone in a room with a _man_. It didn’t matter that Sam was bigger than him. He’d always been bigger than the vessels Lucifer had chosen and that never meant a damn thing. The nurse unhooked his IVs as well, but still left the needles in his skin. He didn’t mind too much. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with tubes getting in the way.

Sam stretched his sore body once the restraints were off, and then he started rolling over.

“Slowly,” the nurse warned. “Try not to put any weight on your back. I’ll just go get you a bedpan. I’ll be right back.”

A harsh laugh left Sam. “Yeah, I’m not using one of those.”

The nurse probably wanted to protest, but Sam could feel his eyes on him, deciding how much of a threat he could be. And then he conceded. “Alright then.”

Sam sat up. It was more of a challenge than it had been earlier when he’d woken up from surgery. But this time he wasn’t filled with adrenaline and sure that he was being attacked again. This time he just had to relieve himself, and it was so damn embarrassing that just getting up was this hard.

With difficulty he got to his feet, and then swayed. Pain was starting to register in his senses and his insides throbbed dully, causing him to wince. The nurse tried to steady him by putting a hand on his arm, and Sam drew back, looking at him with wide eyes. The nurse’s eyes were just as wide.

“I’m pretty sure I can get to the bathroom on my own,” Sam snarled out, and then he started slowly limping over to the tiny bathroom that was connected to his room. 

“Just leave the door unlocked,” the nurse told him in a small voice, “in case you need help.”

He ignored him and made extra sure to lock the door once he closed it behind him. All Sam wanted to do was lean against it and sink to the floor to rest - he couldn’t believe walking a few feet had already exhausted him so much - but he pushed through it.

He relieved himself, which hurt a lot more than he’d expected, and it was unsettling to see some blood come out as well. Sam washed his hands with difficulty, doing his best to not get water on the splint and cast. God, why did something so normal have to be so hard? He hated it. He hated all of it. Sam purposefully avoided his reflection in the mirror, keeping his eyes on the soap and water as it went down the drain. He didn’t want to see what he looked like, didn’t want to see the haunted look in his eyes he knew would be there. Seeing himself in the mirror would make this more real than it already was, and it was much too real for his liking to begin with.

His left hand really didn’t like being used to twist the doorknob. It shook and his grip was weak.

_Maybe I should’ve left it unlocked._

Frustrated tears filled his vision, and his tired legs began to shake as well. After a few seconds in which Sam began to hate himself for being so weak, he got the door open again.

The nurse was waiting by the bed, and Sam limped back over. He had planned on staying sitting, but he was just so exhausted, so despite the way fear stabbed up his spine, he laid back down on his stomach. But he made sure to keep his eyes open, even though his eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

For a while the nurse didn’t do anything, probably contemplating whether or not he should restrain him again. Sam really hoped he wouldn’t. He hooked him up to the IVs again, one putting fluid into him and probably pain medicine, the other a substance he didn’t know.

“I just need to take your temperature and blood pressure,” he said. “I need you to cooperate with me, or else you’ll have to be restrained again. We both know you don’t want that.”

“I’ll cooperate,” Sam muttered.

His eyes started sliding closed, but energy seemed to burst through him when he felt the other man’s hands on his arm. 

Lucifer gripped him tightly, pressing him hard against the floor, his hips thrusting forward into him.

Sam suddenly found it very hard to breathe and a growl left him. Then the hands left, no longer touching him.

“Sam, I don’t want to have to restrain you. Please just lie still.”

He lay there, barely able to move as Lucifer ravished him, unable to do anything as he took his brother. Unable.

Weak. Helpless.

He wasn’t ready to be helpless again. Without thinking Sam jammed his elbow backwards, and a grunt met his ears. Before hands could be on him again, he twisted, ignoring the flares of agony in his back, and he kicked his attacker in the stomach.

Just as he started to rise the door burst open and security guards hurried in. They came closer and Sam kicked out at one that got a little too close, but he simply grabbed his ankle and held it firmly.

He thrashed in his grip, and then more hands were on him. Sam leaned down towards one of the hands now reaching for his shoulder, and he bit at it, digging his teeth in till he tasted blood. A cry left the security guard and he let him pull back, spitting his blood out and a tiny bit of his flesh. Right now he didn’t care how vile it tasted. He was just trying to protect himself.

But that hand was soon replaced by another and there was nothing he could do.

“No!” he yelled out. “ _No!_ Don’t touch me!”

Oh god, they were going to hurt him. They were going to beat him, tear his clothes off, and take him until each of them had been satisfied.

Lucifer was rutting against him and his blood ran cold.

He fought and fought, but before long, they’d gotten him on his stomach, just like Lucifer had.

Even now it felt like the Devil’s hands were on his waist, his fingers pressing bruises into him.

Sam didn’t know what to say. Lucifer hadn’t listened when he’d said _no_ , and these men weren’t listening either. So he just screamed, and he fought with everything he had, his tired muscles trying to protest.

There was a prick on his arm which turned into soreness, and then black started crawling in on his senses.

“No,” he muttered out, now finding it very hard to move his lips.

He tried to fight it, tried to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t fall asleep, not while these men were holding him down. He had to get up. He had to flee. He had to…

“No.”

His eyes slid closed.

 

When Jody stepped out into the hallway she almost got bowled over by a security guard who was hurrying past. There were others as well, coming from different areas on the floor, and they all seemed to be congregating to one room.

_What the hell?_

Curious, she followed them, and she wasn’t the only one. As she grew closer, towards a room just a few doors down from Dean’s, she heard a scream and it sounded incredibly familiar.

_Sam._

The door the security guards had gone into was still open, and Jody poked her head in just to confirm her suspicions. It was hard to tell. There was a large man thrashing as the security guards tried to hold him down. And a female nurse had also entered the room. One of the security guards moved aside, a cry of pain leaving him, and she saw blood dripping from his hand and then more flew into the air. 

And then she saw the face of the man on the bed. It was Sam alright, and his eyes were wide with terror, his face red as he continued to scream. Jody wished she could step in and do something, but there was so much going on in the room. 

There was a nurse who was just picking himself up off the floor, one hand to his stomach, and he caught sight of her. After taking a syringe from his pocket and handing it to the other nurse as he gave her some instructions, he hurried to the doorway, shooing Jody and some of the onlookers back. He then left the room, shutting the door behind him. It beeped quietly, as if it was locking automatically. Out of the onlookers, Jody was the only one who stayed.

“Excuse me, who’s that patient’s doctor?” she asked.

The nurse glanced back through the window on the door, and Jody did the same. It looked like they’d gotten Sam rolled onto his stomach, and blood was seeping through onto the johnnie he was wearing. 

She swallowed roughly, her attention going back to the nurse when he asked, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Jody Mills, I’m a friend of Sam Winchester’s.”

He grimaced, and took in a deep breath, lowering his hand from his stomach. His left jaw seemed to be swelling up a little. 

Sam’s screams abruptly stopped just as the nurse told her, “I understand that you’re concerned, but unless you’re family you won’t be allowed to speak to his doctor.”

She moved aside as she saw the security guards and the other nurse making to leave the room, and the man she was speaking to glanced back before doing the same. 

“Look,” she began, “the only other member of his family is his brother and he’s a few doors down, probably unable to get out of bed on his own. As far as I’m concerned, I’m all Sam has right now.”

“I see.” The nurse paused, probably thinking for a bit. “Then in that case I’ll introduce you to his doctor. Come with me.”

With a wave of his hand the small nurse was leading her off through the hallways, walking more quickly than she would’ve expected, especially since Sam had seemingly hurt him. In about a minute he was knocking on the side of a wooden door that was ajar. There was a nameplate on it that read _Dr. Jordan Booker_. 

“Come in,” a strong voice responded.

“Dr. Booker,” the nurse began, entering the room and gesturing for Jody to do the same, “this is Jody Mills, she’s a friend of your patient Sam Winchester. She wants to speak to you.”

The man she was being introduced to, Dr. Booker, sat behind a large, black desk. Gray streaked his short hair, and there were worry lines on his forehead. He wore a pair of glasses with rectangular lenses, and he pushed them up his nose. But he didn’t look up, just continued writing on the papers that sat in front of him.

“Is she family?”

“No.”

“Then why” - he set his pen down, now giving her his attention, his gray eyes stern - “are you here?”

Jody answered confidently, “Because, his only other family member is a patient here too, and I think right now Sam needs someone here to look out for him.” Dr. Booker looked offended and opened his mouth, but Jody cut him off before he could even start speaking, “I’m not questioning your abilities as a doctor. I’m merely suggesting that maybe Sam needs to see a familiar face.”

“Nurse Ron,” Dr. Booker said, nodding to the man who still stood just inside the doorway, “unless you have anything to report, that’d be all.”

“Actually, there is one thing,” Nurse Ron stated. “I tried taking Sam’s vitals and he attacked me. He also attacked one of the security guards who had to hold him down afterwards.”

Dr. Booker inhaled deeply, and sat back in his chair. “I see. I’m guessing he’s been sedated?”

“I had another nurse give him ten milligrams of Haldol. That should keep him sedated for at least a few hours. He’ll most likely need his back restitched again, and I should really check his fractures.”

The doctor nodded. “Thank you for letting me know. And go get some ice once you’re finished treating him. Your face is already swelling up.”

With that the nurse left and Jody was left all alone with the doctor.

“Ma’am, please have a seat.” He gestured towards one of the two cushioned chairs in front of his desk, and Jody set herself down in the leftmost one. “So how long have you known my patient?”

“A little over five years.”

“And would you say you have a close relationship with him?”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” The doctor gave her an understanding smile, and she went on, “Would you be able to tell me the extent of his injuries?”

“I can’t discuss that with you.”

“Then will you at least let me visit him?”

Dr. Booker questioned, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s been very violent since he’s been here.”

“That’s because he’s scared. Wouldn’t you lash out if you were just as frightened as he is?”

“Frankly, I can’t even imagine what that poor man is going through. The trauma to his body is one thing, but his mind…” he shook his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone with such severe injuries.”

“Then please allow me to see him. What if all he needs to really settle in is a friendly face? I’m sure seeing a bunch of strangers isn’t helping him any.”

He frowned as he thought. Then he asked, his gaze intent, “Is he usually this violent?”

Jody instantly shook her head. Sam could fight when he had to, when he needed to, but as far as she knew he’d never seek to actually hurt someone who was innocent, and he’d never hurt her. “Sam’s the kindest person I know.”

“Alright.” He nodded his head again. “Alright. I don’t usually do this, but since he has no one else, and you’re sure he won’t hurt you, I’ll allow you to visit him.”

Jody was filled with relief from his words.

“Thank you.”

“But there will be a few rules you’ll have to follow,” he went on, as if Jody hadn’t even spoken. “You won’t be allowed to sit on his bed with him, you can’t touch him unless he directly indicates that it’s okay to do so, and I know you’re not stupid, but don’t touch his injuries, and don’t help him move from the bed, even if he asks you to. Get a nurse instead. Right now I don’t even want him leaving the room, and if he really has to he’ll have to be transported in a wheelchair. Also, don’t feed him anything. It’s imperative right now that he doesn’t ingest any food, and don’t worry, he’s getting all his nutrients through an IV.”

Jody couldn’t help but look at him with wide eyes, already feeling overwhelmed before she’d even seen the state Sam was in.

“Anything else?”

Dr. Booker grimaced, but responded, “Don’t remove his restraints, not even if he begs you to. Just let him know they’ll be removed twenty-four hours after his last violent incident, which will now be tomorrow at 9:43 AM if nothing else happens. And… if he does somehow attack you, there’s a button on the wall that you can press and someone should be in to help you.”

She took in a deep breath, trying to come to grips with all of that. “Okay. Okay, yeah, I can follow all those rules.”

“Good. According to the nurse, Sam should be awake in a few hours, you can visit him then.”

“Are you sure I can’t visit him now? I just want to make sure that when he wakes up someone he knows is with him.” A few seconds passed and then she admitted, “And I’m worried about him.”

“If that’s what you want to do then I’ll take you to get a keycard for his room so you can be allowed access.”

He stood and went to the door, taking the papers on his desk with him. After dropping the papers off to one of his colleagues, Dr. Booker took her around to speak to a few different people, and Jody was so tired she started losing track of who exactly she was talking to. They were all in scrubs or lab coats, so it really made no difference to her. By the end of it she held a keycard in her hand that would let her into Sam’s room, and Dr. Booker was leading her to that very room. She took note of the number, room 316, and then she was left alone.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood outside, too terrified to open the door and see just how badly he was hurt. But eventually she went in.

The room was dark, and there were windows on the far wall, the curtains drawn. Sam lay on his stomach, his breaths easy for now. His wrists and ankles had brown leather straps wrapped around them that were connected to the metal bedframe. The most she could see of his injuries was a splint on the little finger of his left hand, a cast on his right hand, and hideous bruises and swelling all along his jaw. Someone had clearly changed his johnnie because this one didn’t have any blood on it, and he was connected to two IVs and a heart monitor. All in all, even though she couldn’t see all the damage that had been done to him, it wasn’t easy to deal with. If she was having a hard time she couldn’t even imagine what Sam must be feeling. Her gaze misted over for a few seconds, but she blinked those tears away. 

There was a plastic chair against the wall to her left, so Jody pulled it over to the side of his bed, making sure she’d be where he could see her when he woke up.

With exhaustion and sadness clouding her mind, Jody took a seat and prepared herself to wait till Sam woke up. And then she’d stay with him as long as he needed her to.

 

It’d been a few hours since Dean had made Jody leave, and part of him worried that she wouldn’t come back. But that was stupid. She had to come back. She had to. She would. In that time Dr. Michael had already prepared him for the procedure, which had been extremely uncomfortable and something he didn’t want to dwell on. Besides, the procedure was going to be even worse.

Dean usually wouldn’t care what needed to be done to help him; he could deal with pain pretty well. Hell, the procedure probably wouldn’t even hurt that much. That’s what he’d been told anyway, but that’s not what he was worried about. It was probably going to feel violating, and Dean had had enough of that to last him a lifetime, probably even two or three lifetimes. A pit formed in his stomach as the door opened. The person who entered didn’t have the same general blur to them as Dr. Michael, so he figured they must be a nurse. 

“Dean,” he told him, “I’m here to take you to your procedure. You’ll have to be transported in a wheelchair. I hope that’s alright with you.”

He swallowed roughly, and then muttered, “Whatever.”

The nurse came over and unhooked him from his IV, still leaving the needle in his arm, and then brought over the wheelchair to help him into it. His skin crawled from being touched, and he shoved the nurse away.

“I can get in the damn chair on my own,” he informed him, glaring at him as best he could. There was some sort of motion, maybe a nod from the nurse, and then he took a step back to let Dean handle this on his own.

Doing so wasn’t as difficult as he’d expected, but it wasn’t easy either. And it made him aware of the way he ached inside. He blinked back sudden tears as he remembered that Cas was partially responsible for that. But was it really his fault? Dean understood why he’d said yes to Lucifer, he understood that Lucifer had hurt him as well. But in that moment his friend had made the decision to try and follow through with the Devil’s wishes, and Dean wasn’t sure if it mattered or not that he had done it to try and save him from Lucifer. He thought maybe it hurt more than the agonizingly pleasurable and unwanted time he’d spent with the dark angel. His _best friend_ had _violated_ him. But he’d wanted to take his clothes off without his consent, and Cas had technically been hurt by Lucifer as well. They all had been. 

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, his tortured memories of the day before, that he hadn’t even realized the nurse had been pushing him through the halls. They were in the elevator now, and Dean could make out two other people in the elevator: from the looks of it a young woman and a little girl, probably a mother and her daughter.

The little girl went over to him, her small form gaining more clarity, and he could see that she was wearing a floral-print dress and had long, curly blonde hair. As much as he tried to he couldn’t make out her eye color.

“What happened to you?” she asked him innocently.

“Honey,” her mother said sternly, “let him be.”

Dean shook his head a little. “No, it’s fine.” He looked away, trying to gather himself before answering her, “A bad man hurt me.”

“A bad man?”

“Mm hm.”

“Why?”

And that was a question Dean couldn’t answer. He wasn’t sure there was an answer. He knew that the dark angel had done it for fun and to remove them as a threat, but why would anyone do such a thing? How could one being be so evil? Then again, this was the very same archangel who had slaughtered an entire town - women and children first - just to raise Death and enslave him to his will.

Thinking of such horrors while having a conversation with a little girl almost made him laugh. It just didn’t fit. It didn’t add up. How could such evil exist in a world where there were children in it just like her, curious and innocent and bright.

When he didn’t answer her question fast enough she moved on to another one. “Why are you looking at me all funny?”

Dean sucked on his bottom lip and blinked back more tears. “I can’t see all that well.”

She gasped. “Was it the bad man? Did he hurt your eyes?”

“He did.”

“Close your eyes,” she told him.

Sam was begging him to close his eyes, and he’d done so. He’d listened. And then Lucifer had made sure he’d keep them open.

Dean didn’t want to close his eyes.

But this wasn’t Lucifer.

This was a little girl.

So, his body shaking slightly, he did as she said.

His muscles tensed when he suddenly felt her lips press gently against his left eyelid, and then she did the same for the other. Her hair brushed over his bruised shoulder. Then she pulled back and he opened his eyes again, a little confused, but not upset about what she’d done.

“My momma says that kissing a boo boo makes it better.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Thank you.”

The elevator doors opened as he spoke and the little girl’s mother pulled her aside so the nurse could wheel him out. Dean turned back to her and saw that she was shuffling through her mother’s purse.

“Wait!” she called.

She rushed out and put something in his hand. Dean held it up close to his face to see what it was. A little bit of the pain inside of him was pushed aside when he saw that it was a plastic flower with white petals. It didn’t look very remarkable, but it didn’t matter. This girl had given him something of hers in the hopes that it would help him. 

Oh god, he felt like he was going to start crying again.

“I’m sorry the bad man hurt you,” she told him. And then she gave him a smile and waltzed away, back into the elevator with her mother.

Dean looked down at the flower as the nurse pushed him away, trying to make sense of how he could be tortured one day and the next be shown that goodness still existed in the world. It was confusing.

He entered a room in which he was greeted by another doctor. Dean didn’t say anything, didn’t even bother to remember his name. He just wanted this over with. The nurse left and the doctor began to tell him about the procedure, making sure he understood the process. Dean didn’t even bother to nod at what were probably appropriate moments. He just half-listened, and all the while his anxiety began to rise, making him sweat. He gripped at the plastic flower in his left hand, feeling the petals press against his palm.

When the doctor told him to stand and take off his pants Dean felt sick to his stomach. He got to his feet and placed the flower on the counter before he tried to do as the doctor asked. He took his pants off slowly, having difficulty due to his injuries. The doctor approached, probably to offer help, but Dean gave him a low, warning growl. 

Once his pants were off he placed them in the wheelchair, and the doctor said “Alright, Dean, I’ll need you to get on the examination table and lie in the fetal position, your back towards me.”

As he said that he began to wash his hands. Dean turned to the examination table, and his heart began to beat wildly. The snap of the doctor putting on latex gloves made him flinch. He got goosebumps, starting with his bare legs.

_Nothing like being cold to make someone more comfortable._

Dean thought of saying something about it, maybe he could stall the procedure for an extra minute or two. He quickly gave up on that idea. He knew he had to do this, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want anyone looking at him where Lucifer had so thoroughly violated him, and for that matter, he didn’t want anything _in him_. But there was no way around it.

He tried taking a deep breath, but it was shaky. The doctor moved about behind him, getting the necessary tools ready. Dean got on the examination table and was thankful that he didn’t have to lie on his right side. Still, lying on his left side hurt as well. Pretty much everything hurt. Curling himself into a fetal position was difficult. Not physically, but mentally. He’d be exposed. He could be hurt again.

Lucifer was lifting up his left leg, straddling him. And then he thrusted into him.

A whimper left Dean, prompting the doctor to ask if he was alright.

“No,” Dean answered honestly.

“Okay, well just try to relax. This’ll only take a few minutes.”

He tried taking in another deep breath, and a shudder ran through him. He waited, his eyes open and staring at the wall beside him.

“I’m going to begin the procedure now. Lie still.”

And then he felt a cold, metallic object covered in lube press against his anus. Immediately Dean tensed up.

“Dean, I can’t do the procedure unless you relax. I promise you, it’ll barely hurt.”

“I can’t relax,” he got out through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you can.”

A whine left him as he remembered what it felt like to be torn inside, what it felt like to have someone in him against his will.

“No, no…”

The doctor pulled the tool away and Dean found it easier to breathe. 

“I know this is difficult for you, but I’m only trying to help. If you want, I can give you a few minutes to take some deep breaths and calm down.”

That option didn’t work for him. Waiting would probably just make this worse. Then an idea struck him.

His cheeks reddened in shame of what he was about to say, but he said it anyway, knowing he needed this, “Could you grab the little plastic flower I placed on the counter?”

Without pause, the doctor responded, “Of course.”

Once the flower was in his hand again he felt more at ease. 

“I’m ready,” Dean informed him.

He took deep, measured breaths, fighting his muscles that wanted to tense up. The cold metal object was trying to breach him again, and this time Dean let it happen. A shiver ran through him and he began to tense up, which ended up hurting quite a bit. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut.

_You’re okay, Dean. You’re okay._

He had to reassure himself that no one was going to hurt him, but that felt like a lie. The doctor kept pushing the tool further into him and it was a battle for Dean to relax. It hurt, but not nearly as much as everything he’d experienced the day before.

It felt awful being filled and stretched again, awful being exposed again. He felt so uncomfortable, and the discomfort grew the further into him it went. It got to a point where he couldn’t take it anymore and he started shaking. 

Oh god, he could almost imagine Lucifer was in him again, feel his body against his, feel his powerful thrusts, feel as his cock throbbed inside of him before he’d emptied his hot seed into him.

Dean tensed up, his muscles clamping down around the tool, and discomfort turned into pain. He groaned and fought with himself to not attack the doctor. His instincts were screaming at him to do so. But he was innocent. He couldn’t attack an innocent person.

He heard the doctor speaking to him but he didn’t take in any of what he said. He was in the bunker library, Lucifer pressed up against him and kissing him. Sam screaming and sobbing as he was torn apart. A knife plunged into his finger and agony owning his world. His eyes burning as his vision became blurry. Lucifer ruining him in front of Sam.

He was trapped there, experiencing everything on repeat, but out of order. Eventually all he began to make sense of was pain and screams and blood and bare skin. 

It was hard to breathe, and he was still being penetrated, unable to get away, unable to save himself.

Lucifer’s hands held him down, gripping too tightly.

Then the tool was being removed from him and he was breathing heavily, sweat running down onto his nose.

“And we’re done,” the doctor told him. “I’ll get a nurse to take you back to your room, and then I’ll talk to Dr. Michael about the results.”

Dean slowly sat up, his right shoulder protesting, and then he nodded in understanding. There was a blurry steel gray object in the doctor’s hand, the gleam of it speaking of metal, and it was shaped like a rod. As he went to place it on what must’ve been a tray on the counter Dean noticed that a blur of dark red was at the end of it.

“Am… am I bleeding?” he asked, shame and disgust making his voice weak.

“Not currently,” the doctor answered. “You were a couple minutes ago, but it’s probably stopped by now.”

Dean got off the examination table, cursing how wobbly his legs were. Putting his pants back on was a challenge, but he did so on his own. The doctor stripped himself of his gloves and left to get a nurse as Dean sat down, wincing at the soreness in his body. 

In a matter of minutes he was back in his hospital room, in bed. Dean just wanted to sleep, wanted to escape, wanted to believe that what had happened to him hadn’t really happened.

It couldn’t have. It just didn’t make sense. But where he was told him the truth. He’d been tortured, and he’d been raped, and he’d watched the same happen to his little brother. And Castiel had been forced to experience all of it along with Lucifer. Maybe the three of them were all broken. It was that thought that made Dean realize that he had plenty of tears left to shed.

 

Sam was relieved when he woke up and saw Jody sitting beside his bed, a cup of coffee in her hands.

She gave him a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He yawned, his jaw aching as he did so, and then he tried to stretch, but the restraints stopped him. He let out a groan and a chill ran up his spine, cold joining the aches and pains in his body. Though, his physical pain didn’t take up the forefront of his mind. He felt slightly removed from it, and he knew he certainly wasn’t feeling all his injuries to their full extent. Whatever pain medicine he was on, he loved it.

But there was one thing he didn’t love.

“Jody,” he began, his voice rough from all the screaming he’d done earlier, “could you get the restraints off?”

Her face fell and Sam’s heart began to pound away till it almost hurt.

“Sam, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Your doctor told me not to. You’ll have them taken off tomorrow morning.”

“But I won’t hurt you!” he reasoned, pulling at the leather straps again. “I won’t- I won’t hurt you. Please, just let me go,” he sobbed.

“Hey, just calm down, okay? I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“I’m so afraid, Jody,” he told her in a hoarse whisper. “I’m so afraid.”

“You’re safe now,” she assured him, her voice calm.

“No,” he told her in a dark tone, “I’m not.”

As he thought of his tormentor the blackening fear that lived within his soul had come out to play and it was growing, tarnishing him.

Jody said nothing, so Sam went on, “There’s something you need to know. We weren’t attacked by a human.”

“What did it?”

“An archangel. Lucifer.”

Jody looked down at the floor, frowning. “I thought you locked him away.”

“I did,” Sam answered, “but a while back I thought I had to go talk to him. I thought… Well, I thought _God_ wanted me to talk to him. But it wasn’t God. It was _him_.” Sam paused to swallow past the lump of emotion in his throat, and tears began to trail slowly down his cheeks. “He tricked me. He hurt me and went through my head, trying to convince me to say yes. Dean and Castiel, they came to save me. And Lucifer… he was going to kill Dean. And I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him in me again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t be his bitch. Not again. So Cas, _he_ said yes.” He sniffled and then finished in an even tone, “Dean and I found out yesterday.”

Sam looked to Jody when he finished, and she heaved out a breath. “ _Wow_. I wanted to go after whatever hurt you, but that’s… that’s pretty big. I mean, the _Devil_? H-how are you even _alive_?” She got up from the chair and started pacing, but she never left Sam’s line of sight.

“You.”

She stopped and stared at him, and it was clear from her stricken expression that she was still trying to process what he’d told her. “What?”

“I’m alive because of you. We… we were dying Jody, when I called you. Dean and I, we were bleeding out.” He swallowed roughly as memories tried to drag him off into the dark. “I used a sigil to banish him. I had tried to do it sooner, before he could hurt Dean. But I was too late. I failed him. And now he’s broken… because of me.” 

Jody knelt down by his bed so that she was at eye level with him. Her gaze was sincere as she told him in a stern voice, “Listen to me. He is not broken because of you. This was not your fault. This was Lucifer’s fault, ya hear me? Don’t you _dare_ try to take the blame for that evil bastard’s actions. You are _not_ him. I don’t care that you’re his true vessel, I don’t care that he’s possessed you in the past. That doesn’t make you responsible for him. He _chose_ to trick you, he _chose_ to manipulate the three of you, to hurt you. _None_ of that is on you.”

“But I couldn’t save Dean. What does it matter if I couldn’t save him?”

“I know you, Sam, and I know you did your absolute best to save him.”

Sam wanted to shake his head, but that wasn’t exactly something he could do while lying down.

He closed his eyes, more tears falling. “But it wasn’t enough. I even tried to save his eyesight, but I couldn’t do that either. I couldn’t do anything. Oh god, Jody, I was so helpless.”

His body was taken by sobs, and Jody began to reassuringly stroke a hand through his hair. From anyone else that would’ve been wildly uncomfortable, but this was Jody. This was someone he trusted, someone he loved, someone who loved him. She didn’t say anything, and Sam didn’t need her to. He just needed to cry, to make sense of the absolute helplessness and sheer horror he’d felt the day before. The fact that a human being could experience emotions to the degree he had was unimaginable. The fact that he was still able to live while feeling like this was unimaginable. He just wanted to die. But he couldn’t do that to Dean, or Cas, or Jody. He just couldn’t.

Once again, Sam had the overpowering urge to be held by his brother, and it made his chest ache.

When he stopped crying Jody slowly brushed her hand through his hair for maybe a minute more, and then she reclaimed her seat.

“I just want Dean,” he admitted. He sniffled and went on, “I don’t know if he’s ever going to get past this. If _I’m_ ever going to get past this.”

Jody blinked rapidly and tears made their way over her cheeks. 

“You will,” she assured him.

“ _How?_ ”

“We’ll find a way. You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll be here for both you and Dean, and I’ll stick around as long as you need me.”

Sam actually found himself smiling a little, and he wondered if this is what it felt like to have a mom. 

“Now, I should probably go get a nurse and tell them you’re up, and I’m figuring your doctor wants to speak with you.”

A stone of fear grew in his stomach. Oh god, he’d forgotten about that. He didn’t even know who his doctor was. He’d been too busy getting sedated to find out. He did want to know the extent of his injuries, wanted to know what Lucifer had done to him. But… he didn’t. He didn’t want to hear how broken he was, how torn up he was, how he almost died. He didn’t want any of this.

“Will you be back?” he asked Jody as she got up.

“Of course,” she assured him. 

The automatic lock beeped quietly as Jody closed the door behind her. Sam was now left all alone with his thoughts and emotions, and he wanted to sleep rather than face them, but sleep wasn’t an option. His mind was too chaotic for that. So he lay there and he tried to believe what Jody had said; that it wasn’t his fault. Her words were logically sound, but right now logic wasn’t cutting it for him. His emotions won and he hated himself because it was his fault. It was all his fault.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that reviews are totally awesome! You don't even have to have a long review, or say that much. As my sister said in one of her author's notes in her fanfiction, I don't even care if you whack your head against the keyboard and hit send. You could even just put one word. I don't care, and trust me, it's not weird to leave reviews, even if the story doesn't have a lot of reviews. I'll appreciate all reviews as long as there isn't any hate.

Crowley was still chained up like the good dog he was, and the search for another Hand of God was running smoothly, so there really wasn’t that much that Lucifer had to do at the moment. Castiel had stopped his screaming a few hours ago and since then he’d been quiet. It was too bad. Lucifer had actually started to really like the sound of him screaming. Maybe he could do something to make him start again. It wasn’t like he currently had anything better to do. Before, he’d been letting Castiel keep to himself, but since he’d hurt Sam and Dean, and essentially him as well, he realized that tormenting him was just so much fun. It was almost sad he hadn’t started doing that to his little brother till recently.

Part of him really wanted to go back to Sam and Dean and hurt them again, but that wasn’t an option. For one, he didn’t know where they were, and two, what if they were dead? He wasn’t too sure. They’d both lost a lot of blood. Lucifer smirked as he thought of how he’d left them. Well, how _Sam_ had made him leave them. He really hadn’t wanted to, not yet. Killing them first would’ve been fun. He’d thought that at the time at least, mostly because he was angry the Hand of God hadn’t worked. The idea of killing them was enjoyable, but at the same time the thought of them being dead pained him. They were honorable enemies, ones he felt close to. If he was being honest, Sam knew him better than anyone else did. He would miss that if he were dead. But at the same time, the thought of Sam and Dean dying at his hands just did things to him, especially Sam. Sam was his vessel, so to him, it would be wrong for anyone else to kill him. 

_What if they are still alive?_

He turned inwards, turned to Castiel. Maybe he would have some insight for him.

When he entered the dungeon in Castiel’s mind the angel was lying on his side against the far wall, his gaze tired and despondent. He barely glanced at him as he approached him.

“What, so you’re depressed now?” Lucifer asked him.

“Go. Away.”

“Uh, yeah, kind of hard to do since this is my head too.”

Castiel heaved out a sigh and rolled onto his other side so that he faced away from him.

“Fine. Mope, sulk - whatever.” He shrugged as he stepped closer to him. “I just came to ask you something.”

Cas said nothing.

“Do you think Sam and Dean are still alive?” he questioned.

“Why do you care?” he grumbled.

“I don’t.”

“Then go away.”

“Come on, Cas,” he began, trying his best to not whine, “talk to me!”

“You don’t deserve it,” his brother told him quietly.

Lucifer sat down next to him, leaning his back against the wall, and he crossed his arms and legs. “So? You’re stuck with me, which is your fault by the way, so suck it up.”

Castiel tilted his head up to look at him, hurt and anger in his blue-eyed gaze.

Lucifer pretended to ignore the look and continued talking, “You know, Sam talked to me when I possessed him. Man, we had some great conversations, and we had some fun together too. Well, I did at least. I think he did at some points, but he wouldn’t admit it ‘cause of shame and all that. If he is alive, I wonder what he’s feeling right now. Wonder what Dean’s feeling too, especially since you followed in my footsteps and had your fun with him as well.” He chuckled. “Let me tell you, I did _not_ see that coming.”

A whimper left Castiel, and Lucifer smiled.

“I gotta commend you for that. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“ _I don’t._ ”

“Tell that to Dean.”

Castiel pushed himself up into a sitting position, and then glared at him. “I would if you would leave.”

“Then who am I going to possess? Sam’s out. He’s probably dead, and if he’s not, he’s not saying yes to me again.”

The angel squinted his eyes at him, like he was observing something, and it made Lucifer a tad uncomfortable.

“That upsets you,” he stated.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, pretending that Castiel hadn’t just struck a nerve.

“Come on, we were talking about _you_. So, tell me, how did it feel getting to be inside the Winchesters?”

Castiel let out an angry growl as he turned his gaze back to him.

“After violating _me and my family_ , you ask me _that_?” he spat. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Lucifer cracked a smile. “I do. It was fun. You know it was. They were so warm, and the way they screamed…” A shiver ran through him from the memory. “And they’re both really good with their tongues, aren’t they? I think so. Oh, and the way their bodies arched into me, into us, it-”

“Lucifer, _stop_ ,” Castiel interrupted.

He snickered. “That word doesn’t work with me.”

Castiel started breathing heavily, his muscles tensing. Any regular person would probably be frightened of that, would try to get away from him, but not Lucifer. He already knew he could take Cas in a fight. So he remained where he was, exuding calm and cool confidence, though, that was tricky when remembering the day before. Maybe thinking about it had been a bad idea. Now he really wanted to take the Winchesters again. And while Dean had been an absolute joy to touch and ruin, his body craved Sam, yearned for his true vessel. Even his Grace seemed to be aching for him. But, he supposed he could use someone else instead, take out his energy on a demon who might actually want him. That’d be interesting.

He continued speaking, putting his desires on the back burner for now, “As much fun as it is getting you riled up, you still haven’t answered my question. Do you think Sam and Dean are still alive?”

Castiel let out a breath, and visibly tried to relax. It didn’t work. He was still strung tight, probably frightened of him.

“I hope they are,” he answered quietly. “They must be. They… they shouldn’t have to die like that, shouldn’t have to have their last memories be the two of us hurting them.”

“We’ve got differing opinions on that, but I’ll let it slide,” Lucifer commented.

“But, if they’re alive, they’re hurting. And I don’t want them to hurt.”

Lucifer faked a yawn and got up from the floor. “Boring! I say let them hurt. And besides, you should’ve thought of that before letting me in.”

Castiel abruptly got to his feet, taking a step closer so that they were nearly nose to nose. “You were killing Dean!” he yelled at him. “And you were beating Sam! What was I supposed to do? I did it for them! I did it to save them from you! I did it so Sam wouldn’t have to be possessed by you again, I did it so Dean wouldn’t have to die with your hand around his throat! I…” He faltered, taking a step back, tears in his blue eyes. “I did it for them.”

Lucifer leaned towards him and put a hand under his chin, lifting his head up. He made sure their eyes met before he told him emphatically, “And yet you couldn’t save them from me. No matter what you do, you can’t save them. Not from me, not from anyone. All you do is screw up, and now you’ve hurt Dean just like I did, and if he is still alive, if Sam’s still alive, I bet they’ll never want to see you again, will never even want to hear your voice again.” He tilted his head down and breathed into his ear, “I know I wouldn’t.” Lucifer inhaled his scent, and teasingly nipped at his earlobe before finishing, “All you have left is me.”

He pulled back, giving Castiel what he knew was an unnerving smile. And then he let him be. That should be enough to get him all emotional again.

Leaving him to his own devices was more challenging than he’d anticipated. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Castiel had quite a nice body as well, especially since he’d been using it. He remembered when he’d first met him, how he’d considered being the one to take his virginity. If there’d been time he would’ve. Now he did have time to touch him in such a way. But not now. Later. It wouldn’t do to leave himself lounging around on the throne with a dreamy smile on his face. He had to seem commanding, in charge, or else those pathetic demons wouldn’t get any work done.

He breathed in deeply as the busy throne room took up the forefront of his mind again. As he watched his demons scurry about, some of them tossing him fearful looks, Lucifer could hear Castiel begin to sob. And what a truly wonderful sound it was.

 

Jody was gone for hardly a minute before she came back, but she wasn’t alone. The nurse from earlier was with her, and so was a middle-aged man with glasses. Sam trembled as he resisted the urge to struggle against the leather straps holding him to the bed. Maybe if he cooperated, or at least seemed like he was cooperating, he could get his restraints off before tomorrow morning.

A few words were said that Sam didn’t really pay attention to, his mind already wandering back to the day before. If only his mind could be restrained like his body was so it could stay in the present. Maybe then he wouldn’t hurt so much.

The man with the glasses watched on as the nurse took his vitals. He stood beside Jody, who was giving him a reassuring smile. After doing his best to look in his throat and then reporting something about it still being bruised, the nurse left. The man with the glasses, presumably his doctor, asked Jody to do the same.

“She stays,” Sam told him emphatically.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I have a lot to go over with you, and there are things that you might want to keep private.”

Sam mulled his words over. Now he wasn’t sure. The thought of being alone with another man terrified him, the thought of being alone while learning what had been done to him terrified him. But then again, he already knew his multiple surgeries had been invasive, that his injuries were embarrassing. Did he really want Jody to know the extent of that? Sure, he could trust her. But could he trust himself to not feel even more ashamed?

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, hating how his voice cracked.

“Sam, if you want I can wait just outside while you and Dr. Booker talk,” Jody suggested. “Would that work for you?”

“I… I think so.”

She gave him another smile, this one rather forced, and then she left the room. Sam set his gaze on Dr. Booker, determined to watch him to make sure he couldn’t hurt him. He understood that he was his doctor, that it was his job to take care of him, to be kind, but… How could Sam know for sure that he wouldn’t hurt him? How could he _know_?

The doctor took the chair that Jody had been sitting in earlier, and he placed his clipboard down on his lap. His eyebrows furrowed together, and the tightening of the lines in his face suggested stress. He didn’t know where to start, and given how downright awful Sam felt, he didn’t blame him. There was probably a novel of things they had to discuss.

He let out a breath and pushed his glasses up his nose, glancing at Sam. A blush crept up Sam’s cheeks because it hit him that this man knew. He knew he’d been violated, that his body had been used to pleasure someone, possibly that he’d even gotten unwanted pleasure from it himself. It took all of Sam’s willpower to not look away from him.

“I’ll start with your injuries that didn’t require surgery,” he began. “As the nurse said, your throat is bruised, but you should be better from that either tomorrow or early the day after. Your jaw is sprained on both sides - that should heal in three to four days. The little finger on your left hand has a clean break, and the knuckles of your pointer, middle, and ring fingers of your right hand are all fractured. There are also some lacerations on your knuckles, but they weren’t deep enough to require stitches. Your fractures will take about six weeks to heal.”

Sam let out a groan at that and his gaze went to his left hand, which the restraints had up near his head. Six weeks? How the hell was he supposed to function like this for _six weeks_?

Dr. Booker shifted in his seat and flipped to the next page on his clipboard, and he went on in a professional tone, “I was able to clean the wound on your back, but there’s a definite possibility of it getting infected. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t stitch up such an injury, but it was deep and you’d lost too much blood. I’ll have to keep checking on it for the next few days to see if a surgery is required, but for now, I have you on antibiotics.”

He paused, probably to see if Sam understood.

“And how long will that take to heal?”

“At this point, it’s hard to say, but you might need physical therapy. Some of the muscles in your back were damaged.”

Sam swallowed roughly and blinked tears from his eyes. Oh god, if these were only the injuries that hadn’t required surgery, Sam didn’t even want to hear the rest. He was broken. One day with Lucifer and he was broken. He almost wished he was in the Cage again, just because there he knew the injuries wouldn’t last. He couldn’t suffer from any permanent damage. Only his soul could, but Sam was used to living with that at this point. His body was another story. He didn’t trust it, didn’t even really like it, and he remembered how much he’d hated it yesterday.

Sam knew that he wasn’t invincible. It was something he’d learned at a very young age, but _this_ , the fact that someone could be this damaged, was too much to take in.

He suddenly found it very hard to breathe. Dr. Booker blurred in his vision, and his body started remembering its torment from the day before. He became lost in it, lost in terror, in agony, in burning, in hatred, and horror, and shock.

Lucifer was taking him again as he had him lie on his stomach.

Lucifer was breaking his finger.

Lucifer was stepping on the knife wound in his back.

Lucifer was kissing him.

Lucifer was running his hands along his body.

Lucifer was tearing his knife through skin and muscle.

Lucifer was forcing himself into his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

Lucifer was sticking his hand inside his soul.

Over and over again, the day before played on a constant loop. But it was all out of order.

He shivered when he felt a hand running through his hair. But he soon realized that it was a familiar hand, a friendly hand. Jody.

Sam took in a shuddering breath, remembering where he was. He was in the hospital, in bed, hearing about what had been done to him. And he had to continue. He had to see the conversation through. He sniffled and blinked the tears from his eyes, wishing that he had the ability to wipe them away.

Jody stopped touching him, and Sam, thinking she was about to leave again, begged quietly, “Stay.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I will.”

His cheeks reddened. He felt so stupid, felt so weak, so powerless, so ashamed. He’d let his emotions get the best of him, and now he had to have Jody with him like he was some sort of child.

Dr. Booker looked a little shaken, suggesting that Sam hadn’t lain there silently while his mind got lost. Maybe he’d been screaming. There was an ache around his wrists and ankles that managed to reach him through the pain medicine, suggesting that maybe he’d been struggling as well.

Dr. Booker cleared his throat and asked politely, “Are you ready to continue?”

Sam’s mouth felt dry, but while lying down like this he couldn’t nod, so he forced out, “Yes.”

“I’m not sure if you remember, but you were given a blood transfusion. You’ve been getting fluids since your surgeries, and starting early this morning you’ve been getting your nutrients through an IV as well. For the next week I don’t want you eating anything. After that you might be able to have some solid foods, but we’ll have to keep track of it.”

That information didn’t bother Sam too much since every once in a while he had issues with eating anyway and now he was so disgusted with himself he wasn’t sure he could eat, so he glanced at Jody, hoping she would tell the doctor to continue. She was standing protectively beside his bed, and though Sam couldn’t see her as well, he did feel a bit safer. She must have noticed the look he sent her way because she gently asked the doctor to go on.

Dr. Booker took in a deep breath and explained, “This is where the terms will start getting more technical, but, as my patient, I feel it’s important for you to understand what’s been done to help you.”

“No,” Sam muttered. “I don’t want that.”

Maybe under normal circumstances he would, but just waiting to hear what further damage had been done to his body was making his stomach clench till it hurt, and he was starting to feel too hot. Sam wished he could throw the blanket off of himself, and the fact that he couldn’t do even that made his bruised throat ache with despair.

There was a pause in which the doctor thought, and Sam began to sweat as he waited. Then, he eventually agreed, “Alright.” He frowned as he flipped through the file he had in front of him. “A few different surgeries had to be performed to understand the extent of the damage to your digestive system, and a nurse informed me that last night you were bleeding from one of the surgical sites.” Sam’s face reddened, remembering exactly where he’d been bleeding from. He was glad that the doctor didn’t explain further. Jody didn’t need to know about that, and Sam didn’t want a reminder. “The healing for that should take another two days, but…” He paused, taking in a breath.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“You had severe bleeding in part of your digestive tract. During one of the surgeries we had to cauterize the wounds.”

“Cauterize? H-how?”

“Have you ever heard of electrocauterization?”

Sam had heard of it before, but he didn’t know too much about it. He shivered just thinking that the inside of him had been exposed to such a violent treatment.

Jody noticed and asked him, “Are you cold?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. He wasn’t too sure really. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and he wanted the blankets off of him, but he also wanted another blanket. More sweat was forming on his skin and it made him acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t been able to clean himself after what had happened to him yesterday. Sure he’d been wiped down in the ambulance with antiseptic wipes and he figured nurses and doctors had also wiped him down a bit, but he was _unclean_. The sudden thought made his stomach churn and he began to feel rather lightheaded.

His body started making too much saliva.

“B-bucket,” he got out, his breathing growing harsh. “Bucket.”

In an instant Dr. Booker was up from his chair and shoving the clipboard into Jody’s hands. He rushed to a set of counters and cabinets across the room from Sam’s bed to grab him what he needed. Jody put the clipboard down on the chair and started undoing the leather straps. Sam was relieved about that. When he was free he dragged himself over to the side of the bed, ignoring the strain that put on his shaking muscles. Dr. Booker got the bucket over to him a few seconds before his stomach decided to empty itself. It burned on the way up, and his eyes were watering fiercely. Sam closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath when he finished puking. He waited with his head over the bucket for nearly a minute more, making sure his stomach had itself under control. It seemed to, so he shifted back over to the middle of the bed, trying to get himself to calm down. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this miserable before.

He felt Jody’s hand graze his left shoulder before pulling back abruptly. In the moment she must’ve forgotten about his knife wound. He wished he could tell her that she could have a hand there and it wouldn’t hurt him, but the words wouldn’t come to him. He was just so tired.

_Unclean. I’m unclean._

_I’m not pure._

A whimper emanated from him before he could get his voice under control, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his cheeks burned red.

Dr. Booker’s voice came from the other side of the room. “I think we’ll need to do some more testing.” Before Sam could ask him why he went on, “Your vomit has blood in it, just like it did after you woke up from your surgeries, and at this point I wouldn’t expect you to be vomiting.”

A hot tear trailed down Sam’s face and onto his nose before dripping onto the pillow.

Sam ignored the sour, metallic taste in his mouth and said, “I can explain that.”

“Okay. Well, we’ll go over it after I finish telling you about the rest of your treatments and recovery times.”

He took his seat again, and this time Jody continued running her hand comfortingly through his hair as he began again, “So we left off on electrocauterization. How much do you need me to explain?”

Sam frowned as he tried to think. He knew a little about it, and he knew about cauterization in general, and if he had to guess, he knew where he’d been bleeding. The details, in this specific instance, were things that he didn’t want to know. It’d probably be better if he didn’t know them.

“Just… just tell me how long it’ll take to heal from it.”

“Approximately four weeks.”

Sam held in a groan.

“You also have inflammation, colitis and proctitis to be exact. That’ll take about a week to heal.”

Oh god, Sam didn’t actually know what those words meant, and this time it sounded like information he needed. He glanced at Jody worriedly, wondering if he wanted her to hear this next part. One of her hands was over her mouth, most likely from horror and disbelief. If he could see her face he wouldn’t be shocked if he saw tears.

“What… what are those?” he asked, his lips tightening into a worried line.

“Colitis is a disease in the colon, and proctitis is a disease in the rectum. And don’t worry, they’re not permanent. It mostly just means that you have swelling and you’ll probably experience occasional bleeding and abdominal pain.”

Sam’s upper lip trembled and he found himself having to blink tears from his eyes. He closed them, and then inhaled as the tears trailed down his face. Right now he was much too distraught to even feel ashamed about where he was injured, and he didn’t even care that Jody now knew. Maybe it was better she did, maybe it was better he wasn’t the one who had to tell her about it.

Before he even realized it, the words “oh god” were falling from his lips in a whisper. And then he kept saying them, repeating them till they eventually became incoherent and a sob tore from his throat. He reached his hand out for Jody, and he scrabbled uselessly for a bit until the hand that had been in his hair had slipped into his own hand. Her skin was warm against his palm, and he wanted to squeeze and hold onto her as long as he could, but his grip was weak.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dr. Booker told him solemnly. “I know this isn’t easy, but I promise I’ll do what I can to take care of you.” There was a rustling of pages as he reorganized the papers on the clipboard, and then he went on, “Now, could you please tell me about the blood you’ve been puking up? Depending on what you tell me I’ll decide whether further testing is necessary.”

Sam licked his lips, which caused his bottom one to sting a little, reminding him that they were dry.

And then he cleared his throat. “The man who attacked me… he… he made me drink…” Sam’s stomach churned angrily again, and he took in a deep breath before continuing on, “He made me drink my own blood.”

Everything went silent.

The silence seemed to drag on and on, and the metallic taste on Sam’s tongue grew, grew till he swore he could feel the wet thickness of blood in his mouth. He almost had the urge to spit, just to get it out. But, he reminded himself, there wasn’t actually anything there. He found it difficult to swallow, remembering how it felt to have Lucifer’s bloodied cock forced into his throat. A strange sort of gagging noise left him, breaking the silence.

Dr. Booker’s next words were pathetic, but Sam didn’t blame him; there really wasn’t anything you could say to that. “I see.”

More silence ensued, and Sam shifted his legs in discomfort, wishing he could pull them up to his chest to make himself seem smaller. But right now, lying on his stomach felt like the best option, even if it did mean the restraints could easily be put back on him.

That thought made him inquire, “Do I have to be restrained again?”

Dr. Booker gave him a look that could only be described as pitying, his gray eyes heavy and sorrowful, and Sam hated it. Then the doctor looked to Jody. Sam glanced at her as well, and she shook her head slightly.

“No,” he finally answered. “It goes against hospital policy, but you’ve already been through too much. At this point the restraints might make things worse.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“A nurse should be back in in a few hours to give you more pain medicine and antibiotics. And I’ll be back to check on you later today. For now, just rest.”

Dr. Booker went over and did some things at the counter, the water running. Then, he left, the door beeping quietly as he closed it. Sam found himself settling down into the bed, tension he didn’t even realize he’d had being released. Jody squeezed his hand gently before letting go, and then went to sit down in the chair again. 

He didn’t open his eyes as she addressed him, didn’t want to see if there were tears on her cheeks, “How you doin’, Sam?”

He almost started laughing at the question, but he knew what she meant.

“I’ll live.” Without thinking he almost added the word sadly to his statement, but he thought better of it at the last moment. He didn’t need Jody to go off on him or anything for being suicidal.

But death, death would be so nice, so _perfect_. If he died he wouldn’t need to think about his recovery times, wouldn’t need to have doctors and nurses looking after him, wouldn’t be a burden to Jody, a burden to Dean. It’d just be so, so much easier if he died.

Now he went back to wishing that Lucifer had killed him the day before. Who cared about an honorable death? Who cared about going out fighting, in a blaze of glory? It was still death. He’d still be taken away from this awful world with all its evils and its pain and suffering. And now he wanted to be taken away. Taken away for good, never to breathe another breath of air, never to feel the sunlight on his skin again. He just wanted darkness, nothing but darkness and relief, and for all of this to be over.

A quiet laugh did leave him when a stray thought passed through his mind; maybe he could summon Lucifer to ask him to kill him.

But if the Devil saw how he was suffering, he’d leave him like this. He knew how his mind worked. He wouldn’t want to kill him if it would come as a mercy.

Thankfully, Jody didn’t ask him about why he’d laughed. She just stayed there, her presence strong and reassuring. And she didn’t say anything about what the doctor told him either. That’s what Sam loved about her; she only pushed him when she knew he needed it. And right now, that was the complete opposite of what he needed.

Still too worked up to sleep, Sam tried to focus on his breathing as he let his thoughts wander. And they did wander. And rather than making their way back to Lucifer’s searing, ruining touch, they went to Dean, to his suffering, to the warm embrace that Sam yearned for.

“You should go check on Dean,” Sam suggested. “I’ll… I’ll be okay on my own for a bit.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah.” As she got up, Sam added, “And maybe get some rest too. You don’t have to sacrifice your own health to take care of the two of us.”

“But-”

“Please. For me.”

“Alright.”

She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his head, making the corners of Sam’s lips curl up in a small smile.

“Love you, Sam.”

“Love you too, Jody.”

 

Sam was right, Jody realized, as she left his room. She really did need to take care of herself. Her neck ached from the few hours of restless sleep she’d gotten hunched over in the chair by Sam’s bed as she’d waited for him to wake up, and her eyelids were heavy. There was a strange emptiness in her that was probably hunger, but it was hard to process with all that was going through her head.

There was tension in her shoulders, and it felt like new weight she carried around with her. It was hard hearing about Sam’s injuries, hard hearing more about what he’d gone through. A shudder ran through her as her mind replayed the way he’d explained why he’d been puking up blood. She couldn’t even imagine going through something so horrific.

All she wanted to do was go to a motel, collapse onto a bed, and cry, but she had to check on Dean first. She figured he’d gotten his procedure already, and maybe with that over with he’d be in a better place. Well, not by much, but hopefully he wouldn’t yell at her again. She was in no way angry with him for doing so. It just hurt knowing how much he was suffering.

When Jody got to room 311 she knocked, not wanting to intrude if a doctor or a nurse was with Dean. There was no answer, and the shade on the window on the door was drawn so she couldn’t look in to see if he was awake. As quietly as possible, she opened the door and poked her head in. The lights were on and Dean’s back was to her.

“Dean?” she called out to him. When he didn’t answer she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

He wasn’t breathing deeply like he was asleep, so she informed him, “Sam wanted me to check on you.”

His back stiffened at that, and then he slowly rolled over onto his back, tilting his head to her. He squinted at her, made a small sound of frustration at himself, and then gave up trying to see her clearly. His gaze became unfocused and her heart twinged.

“You’ve been to see Sam?” he asked her, excitement in his voice. “How is he?”

“Alive,” she answered, going over to the leather chair in the corner to sit. She didn’t know what else to say in response. Dean continued to look in her general direction, longing in his eyes, so she went on, “Right now, he’s doing pretty badly, but he’ll be better in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Dean asked incredulously. “No, no, that’s… That’s not good, that doesn’t work for us. We…” He trailed off, his face going pale. “He can’t be laid up that long. It’s not safe for him. Maybe… Maybe in a few days I can take him back home, care for him myself.”

“Dean, no,” Jody told him. “You’re hurt too, and the kind of help that both of you need is from medical professionals.”

“But-”

Figuring she knew why Dean was freaking out like this, Jody admitted, “Sam told me who attacked you.”

Dean swallowed roughly and looked away, tears in his eyes.

“I know that you don’t feel safe, but all you can do right now is let yourself get better.”

There was silence as Dean processed her words, and Jody’s stomach clenched. She knew what she said was true, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

Lucifer could find them again, hurt them again. He could even kill them this time. Jody didn’t want them to have to face that, not again. And, she realized, she wanted to be there with them. Sure, Lucifer would probably break her body with one look and then step over her corpse to get to them, but she couldn’t just leave her friends on their own. She couldn’t!

“What if he finds us, Jody?” he asked helplessly. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“I can’t… I can’t do it again. I don’t want to go through that again. Not again.” He shook his head. “I’d… I’d rather die.”

“Hey, just try not to think about it, okay?”

Dean let out a sob, and before Jody realized it, she was on the bed with him, holding his uninjured hand.

“Look, Lucifer knows what state he left you in. He probably thinks you’re dead.”

Dean sniffled and then conceded, “Good point.” He took in a shaky breath, squeezing her hand as he did so. “Thanks.” She smiled at him. A heavy silence fell over them, and then Dean asked, “Did Sam tell you who Lucifer’s possessing?”

Jody nodded.

She didn’t know Castiel, but she’d heard both boys talk about him fondly, and she knew how close they were to him. Oh god, Lucifer really knew how to make a mess of things, which was a definite understatement.

“I don’t know whether to he mad at Cas, o-or terrified of him, or to feel sorry for him. He brought this on himself, you know? But… I think I get why he said yes, I really do. And I suppose Lucifer would’ve hurt the three of us anyway, but… Part of me blames him for this. And now, now I have these memories of someone who _looks_ and _sounds_ and _feels_ like him…” He sucked on his bottom lip as tears trailed down his face. Jody stroked her thumb over his knuckles. “But he’s hurting too. I know he didn’t want this. It’s the last thing he wanted.” Dean smiled sadly. “Cas always tries to do the right thing. Sure, he doesn’t always get it right, but he tries so damn hard. And he hasn’t had it easy since he’s been on Earth. And now… and now he has those memories, those feelings. He had to experience things he didn’t want to, just like I did. Just like Sam. I just wish I could talk to him somehow. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I don’t even know if I could stop myself from punching him in the face. What if… What if Lucifer never lets him go?”

“You’ll get him back,” Jody assured him.

“How?”

She hated what she had to say next, but she did so anyway, “I don’t know.”

More tears trailed down Dean’s face and he pulled his hand back to wipe them away.

“God, I just want to see Sam,” he moaned out.

“I could talk to your doctor about it, Sam’s doctor too.”

He shook his head. “No. I can do it. Just… what room is he in? Hell, what room am _I_ in?”

“You’re in 311,” Jody responded, “he’s in 316.”

Dean sat in silence for a few seconds, and Jody worried that maybe he was contemplating doing something he really shouldn’t. 

“His door is locked,” she informed him, hoping that would be enough to deter him. In the state he was in it was very possible that such a thing would stop him.

“Why is that important?” he asked.

“I know you, okay? You’re probably thinking of getting into his room yourself without talking to anyone about it.”

He scoffed. “No, I’m not. That’d be stupid. Look at me, I can barely get out of bed.”

Jody eyed him warily, not totally sure she believed his argument. But, really, there wasn’t much she could do, so she remained silent.

That silence ended when Dean told her, “You should go. Get some rest.”

Jody found herself smiling. “Funny. Sam told me the same thing.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s smart.”

She stood as she said, “Well, since I’ve got two Winchesters telling me to take care of myself, I guess I’d better listen.”

“Good. Sleep, eat.”

Jody reached down and squeezed his hand reassuringly one last time and then went over to the door and opened it. She turned back to him and said, “Dean, you don’t need to figure out how you feel about Castiel just yet. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal first.”

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Jody pressed her lips together. Knowing how stubborn Dean could be he probably didn’t take her words to heart. But there was nothing more she could do, so after saying goodbye, she left.

Her stomach rumbled, so she walked around until she found the hospital cafeteria. Jody wasn’t totally sure how she managed to get a salad from the salad bar, pay for it, and eat it without passing out. And then she was even more amazed that afterwards she’d made it to a motel and had gotten herself a room.

There was still so much she needed to do. She needed to check up on the station in Sioux Falls, call Donna and see if she didn’t mind taking on extra work, talk to whoever was working the case with Sam and Dean to make sure they hadn’t violated any of their rights, and check back in with Claire and Alex.

But that all left her mind as soon as she collapsed onto the bed. And though she thought she was too worn out to cry, a few tears made their way down her face before her eyes slid closed.

 

Dr. Michael came in maybe half an hour after Jody left. Dean wasn’t one-hundred percent sure. After all, he only had his instincts to go on since he couldn’t see the clock.

“So I got the results from your procedure,” he began as he closed the door and sat in the plastic chair by the bed. “They’re not too bad.”

“What does that mean?” Dean grumbled.

“It means, that internally you should be healed in about two weeks.”

“Internally?”

“Yes, you have a few tears in your anus.” At those words Dean found his face going bright red, but Dr. Michael continued, “I’m sorry for how invasive the procedure was, but I had to be sure that you didn’t have any further damage.”

Dean cleared his throat and glanced in Dr. Michael’s general direction before looking away again. His gaze went to the little plastic table beside his bed that he’d left the flower on. Right now he couldn’t really see it, it was just a blur of yellow and white against the table, but he knew it was there.

Shame rolled through him like a black, poisonous cloud, grabbing hold of everything in a choking vise as it passed. His injuries were bad enough, but the reasons they were there… And Dr. Michael knew. He still couldn’t believe that he _knew_. Why did he have to know? Why did anyone have to know? Why did Dean even have to know? The day before shouldn’t have happened to him. It just wasn’t right.

“There’s not much I can do for that other than keep you on the pain medicine,” he went on. “And I’m not quite sure about the healing times for your other injuries. We’ll just have to play it by ear. As for you eyesight, I’ll run a few tests tomorrow, see what’s what. I want to give your eyes a chance to heal first before I come to any decisions.

“Nothing’s set in stone yet,” Dr. Michael assured him, but his words did nothing for him.

He let out a deep breath, tried to hold back the tears that wanted to spill free. Jody had been right. He couldn’t leave and take Sam with him. They had to be here. They had to be subject to being constantly poked and prodded and checked on and given medicine, and they had to rely on people to take care of them. Oh god, Dean hated that. He hated it so damn much he just wanted to get up out of bed to prove that he was fine.

But he knew he wasn’t. Earlier, just getting into the wheelchair so he could be taken to his procedure had been difficult. He knew there was no way he would be able to walk out that door on his own.

Times like this he _really_ hated having a body. Sure, he’d been injured before, but not like this, not from something so horrifyingly intimate. It all just made him want to scream. His chest and throat ached, but he held his voice inside him.

That pressure within his chest began to build, dying to be released, but he didn’t grant his body the satisfaction. His body had already betrayed him too many times recently, so he would hold in his scream. He just had to.

Dean clenched his left fist, fingers curling around the white linen blanket.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

His body seemed to throb, his muscles tensing, and his bottom lip started trembling. A tear slipped free.

Eventually, Dean was able to let out a breath that wasn’t shaky, and the inhale was even as well. He smiled a little at that, feeling proud of himself for not giving into his emotions.

He looked up, expecting Dr. Michael to be watching him intently, but he was gone.

How much time had passed?

Dean couldn’t tell, and that despair that closed in on him brought back his urge to release his voice into the air. But he stayed quiet, keeping his torment to himself.

 

Hours had passed, and still there was no word on another Hand of God. It was getting on Lucifer’s nerves. The faster he found the Hand of God, the faster he could kill Amara. It wasn’t that he hated Amara. He didn’t even really know her. But what he did know was that God hated her, or he seemed to. Why else would he lock her away? And this time, locking her away wasn’t an option. He had to kill her. And maybe, just maybe, God would look at him differently, would accept him rather than locking him away in disgrace.

Lucifer knew a lot about being patient, having spent most of his existence alone in the Cage. But now, when the possibility that he could redeem himself in his father’s eyes was so close, his nerves were drawn thin. He found himself snapping at any demon who so much as messed up. One of them he’d even killed because they’d abandoned their post to go on a little murder spree. The unprofessionalism was appalling. Now he walked amongst them as they worked, keeping an eye out for any slackers. Since he’d made an example of that one demon, the others had easily fallen in line. He was surprised his presence hadn’t done that well enough. But, he supposed being gone for as long as he had had made some of his followers lose faith, had made them forget just what he was truly capable of.

He knew there were most likely still a few who were loyal to his dog, but that couldn’t be helped at the moment. Weeding them out would take time.

Castiel was silent in his head again, but Lucifer could feel his crushing despair, and it made him giddy.

As he walked about, he noticed there were a few demons that kept looking at him, something akin to adoration in their eyes. It felt good to be looked at like that. The others looked at him with fear, and he enjoyed that as well, but the adoration was interesting. He wondered how deep that ran in them, if he could get them to do whatever he wanted.

One female demon with olive skin, and dark wavy hair that fell down to her waist, flashed him a small smile before lowering her head. That grabbed his attention. He looked her over curiously. The black pantsuit she wore was cut in a style that did more than hint at her curves. It seemed to emphasize them, telling of smooth skin hidden beneath soft fabric. He took his seat at the throne again, his eyes on her as she worked. Mm… The way she moved was rather appetizing as well. He wondered if she was doing that on purpose, if she even realized she’d managed to catch is eye, or if that was all natural. Either way, Lucifer really liked it. 

Her face was pretty too, heart-shaped, sweet, curved lips, almond-shaped brown eyes, nicely sculpted cheekbones. She looked soft and hard all at once. Like she could easily command others if need be and dole out harsh punishments, but like she could also give in to the will of another, become malleable beneath them.

His desire from earlier came back in full force, and he growled quietly under his breath.

Lucifer watched with eager anticipation as she left the throne room, possibly to check up on a source she might’ve found. Everyone in the room glanced at him as he rose, but when he ignored them they went back to what they were doing.

Lucifer began to follow her, keeping far enough away that she wouldn’t notice. And she didn’t. She seemed solely focused on the task ahead of her. He watched as she met up with another demon, this one in the body of a petite, short-haired blonde. They talked for a while, and he heard a few mentions of a possible Hand of God. The demon he’d followed seemed to be ordering the other to check it out. Lucifer smiled, glad that work was getting done, that he was getting closer to pleasing his father.

The blonde left and he approached slowly. She turned around, and all but jumped when she saw him, but then she reined herself in, quickly dropping into a bow.

“My lord,” she addressed him in a warm voice.

Though having others bow to him really was very nice, Lucifer put a hand under her chin and drew her up. She waited for him to say something, more orders, maybe even something about punishment. She looked like the kind who really wouldn’t mind being punished by him.

“I noticed you’ve been working particularly hard and I want to reward you,” he informed her, not unaware of the way his voice was already lowering.

She blushed, something Lucifer found rather attractive.

“I’m just doing my job,” she told him.

He withdrew his hand and then grabbed onto her arms, slowly walking her back towards the wall. She was breathing heavily when he closed in on her.

“And you’re doing it splendidly. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Andrea.”

“And is that you, or the vessel?”

“I’ve had her for so long, it feels like one and the same to me,” she answered, her voice growing quieter with each word.

_Castiel,_ Lucifer thought to his brother, _you’ll be wanting to pay attention to this._

He dragged his brother more into their body, so that they were sharing their senses. He wanted his little brother to experience this firsthand.

_What… what are you doing?_ he asked him, voice rough from anxiety.

_Use your brain,_ he chided. _I know you have one._

Lucifer leaned closer to Andrea, and bent his head down to whisper in her ear, making sure his lips brushed against her skin, “Come with me.”

She nodded, just barely able to contain an eager smile, and he took her hand before leading her off. There were quite a few rooms in this fortress that weren’t being used, and any of them would do just nicely.

_Lucifer, don’t._

_What? She wants it. It’s not like what went down yesterday._

Castiel’s anger scraped at his awareness like hot, sharp knives, and with the current needs he had, that just made tingles go down his spine.

Oh yes, this was going to be enjoyable.

Sure, Lucifer didn’t like demons. Oftentimes he despised them, but Andrea seemed admirable, she was pretty, and she was there. Who would pass up such an opportunity?

He found a room that wasn’t being used, and it looked to be an old meeting room, a large table taking up the center, a few chairs around it, some thrown against the wall.

_Yes, this should do._

He let Andrea enter first and then closed the door behind him. She went over to lean against the table, clasping her hands together. If anything, she looked a little nervous.

Lucifer shrugged out of his coat, letting it drop to the floor, and he did the same for the suit jacket. He loosened his tie, undoing the first few buttons, and then as he approached her he began to methodically roll up his sleeves. His eyes ran over the length of her body, and he really wanted to know what she looked like without clothes. He felt her eyes roaming him as well, if a bit more shyly.

Castiel was bristling with anger inside him, and with fear. Lucifer knew he didn’t like what he was about to do with his body, and that’s what made it even more enjoyable.

He grabbed the front of her jacket when he got close, drawing her towards him, and he smirked down at her as he undid the buttons.

She hesitantly reached out to him, running a hand over his chest. Lucifer groaned in approval and then slipped the jacket off of her. Beneath it she was wearing a white silk blouse, and based on the way he could see the tips of her breasts already straining against the fabric, that was it. That shouldn’t have surprised him, really. She was a demon after all. But the sight made hunger build in his gut, in the base of his spine. He could already feel himself growing hard. Lucifer ran a hand through her hair, enjoying the way it felt against his fingers, and then he tugged, not bothering to be gentle. Her mouth opened in a quiet gasp, and that was when he leaned in and kissed her, already getting his tongue involved. He didn’t see a point in going about this slowly, not when he wanted her, not when she seemed to want him.

Castiel started fighting for control again, just as hard as he had yesterday. In a sense, he was getting violated once more, having his body used like this when he didn’t consent to it. Lucifer knew it was wrong to enjoy that, but morals didn’t really matter to him, not when he was already one of the worst things in existence in his father’s eyes. Besides, there was a darkness in him; darkness brought on by the Mark. Since it wasn’t strictly his fault that he was like this, then why shouldn’t he indulge himself? He knew his father liked Castiel, so maybe using the angel like this would get his attention.

In about a minute Lucifer had successfully bared Andrea’s body to him, Castiel screaming and pleading with him all the while. If anything, hearing his brother’s voice just turned him on more. Sometimes Lucifer liked to have his victims or partners showing more skin than he did, just to point out that he was the one in power, but this time, he fully undressed, trying to deepen Castiel’s shame. He felt a heavy weight in the part of his head where Castiel was, and he smirked, realizing he’d succeeded.

He got Andrea on the table, laying her flat, before taking to her with abandon. It was like a fire lived within him, his blood boiling. It was true that he burned cold, but that was something he could control. And right now he didn’t want the cold. He wanted the heat of another body, burning pleasure. And he got it, making the demon come undone beneath him again and again. She seemed to be trying to hold back screams, but Castiel didn’t hold back. He sobbed and clawed away at the wall blocking him from taking control. But he moaned and cried out with pleasure as well. He was feeling everything just as strongly as Lucifer was, and the sensations joined together in a delicious, nearly overwhelming mix, searing through him. The power he wielded during this was just as succulent as the way Andrea felt around him. She was beneath him, completely at his mercy, and Castiel was trapped and utterly helpless. Oh, it was simply astounding being able to dole out pain and pleasure at the same time, in one act. It was one of the reasons he’d thoroughly enjoyed the day before. Power such as this could be intoxicating.

At one point, Andrea put her hands on Lucifer’s chest, trying to push him back. Her touch sent hot tingles through him.

“Please, I’m done,” she got out breathlessly.

Her body quivered beneath his enticingly as he buried himself in her wetness and tight warmth again, and then he stilled, bringing his face close to hers.

“You’re not done until I say you are,” he growled out.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes tearing up, and Lucifer crooned, “Come on, Andrea, this is your reward. _Enjoy it._ ”

She tilted her head away from him when he attempted to lick her lips, and he snarled at her, pressing his hips against her with more force. A high-pitched cry left her that sent heat shuddering through him.

“So you want to resist?” he questioned. “Okay, then I’ll make a little deal with you. Fight back and you’re going directly to Hell to be tortured again. Does that sound good to you? Would you prefer the pain of fire burning your flesh and knives ripping you apart over having the honor of me being inside of you?”

She shook her head rapidly.

“Didn’t think so.”

_Lucifer, just_ stop _._

He ignored his little brother, and brought his mouth to Andrea’s as he began to take her again, using more force this time. She held onto him as he used her body to pleasure himself, dug her nails into his back. The pinpricks of pain were absolutely delicious.

_Please,_ Castiel pleaded again.

Lucifer drew back to let Andrea cry out into the air, and there was no mistaking the tear that was trailing its way into her hair.

_What? Now you’re telling me you care about a_ demon _?_

_No, but, brother, she said she’s done._

_But I’m not._

_That’s not how it should work!_

_It’s how I work. Now shut up. Enjoy yourself._

To his surprise, Castiel did shut up. But his anguish and shame was still raw and biting, still very much there, right along with his pleasure. When Lucifer finished, he decided to indulge himself further. So he bit her neck, making sure to break her skin. A deep, pleased groan left him as the taste of her blood flooded his tongue. And it was hot, and so very good.

Castiel was screaming again.

Andrea was screaming.

And Lucifer continued to drink from her as he slipped out of her. Oh, the taste of her was unimaginable. It’d been too long since he’d had demon blood. Much too long.

When he drank his fill, he dressed, glancing over at Andrea to make sure he’d left her alive. She was an efficient worker; her death was the last thing he needed. Thankfully she was still breathing, but she didn’t seem like she was going to get off the table any time soon. That just wouldn’t do.

“Get up,” he ordered.

She immediately did as he said, groaning in pain. Her face had gone pale, and there was no mistaking the dark trickle of blood that was running down her neck.

“Get back to work. I don’t like slackers.”

The demon swallowed roughly at that, her eyes widening slightly, and then she was off the table, putting her clothes back on in a hurry. Lucifer smiled as he saw her wince with nearly every movement.

He left the room before she did, carrying his coat over one shoulder, and he licked away the blood that remained on his lips. Castiel had gone silent again, but Lucifer was just itching to know what he was thinking, to know how much he hurt.

_What’d you think of your first taste of demon blood? Good, huh?_

_That was…_ Castiel began before trailing off.

_Delicious,_ Lucifer teasingly supplied.

Castiel didn’t speak again as he made his way back to throne room. Lucifer threw himself down in the throne, propping his legs up over the side. And once he was truly settled, Castiel informed him, his voice filled with hurt and despair and rage, _I_ hate _you._

Lucifer closed his eyes, withdrew into his mind, and he was in the dungeon again. He knelt down by Castiel - who was against the wall with his knees curled up to his chest - and cupped his cheek in one hand. He made sure his brother was looking him in the eyes before he said softly, “I know.”

 

It didn’t escape Sam’s notice that the next nurse who came to check on him jumped a little upon noticing he was awake and unrestrained. Sam had gotten some sleep after Jody had left, but his body had begun to ache and throb and scream. He had hurts that he couldn’t even understand. They were inside. Deep inside. And they ran deeper than that, to a place where even the pain medicine wouldn’t be able to touch. His soul. Even a day after he was still sore from what Lucifer had done to his soul. Earlier he hadn’t really noticed it, had been too focused on his fear, but now it was something he couldn’t ignore.

He took a deep breath, trying to relax as the nurse came in. He was an African American man, and he had kind eyes and a friendly smile. The nametag he wore read _Josiah_. There was a warmth about him, a charismatic and caring energy. But that didn’t change the fact that Sam was alone with him and hardly able to move. At least he was able to lie on his side now. He’d felt too helpless while lying on his stomach. Besides, it had only seemed to worsen the stomach ache he now had.

“So you’re up,” Josiah noted as he went over to him.

“I think the pain medicine’s wearing off,” Sam informed him in a strained voice.

He hurriedly got to work at that, giving him an apologetic look. “I would’ve been here sooner,” he explained, “but I had to deal with a particularly difficult patient.”

Sam idly wondered if that patient was Dean. The chance of that was probably small, but he knew his brother could be very uncooperative at times, especially when he was vulnerable. Sam didn’t blame him. Being weak wasn’t easy, especially now.

Sam swallowed roughly, still trying to build up his resolve for what he wanted to request. He’d been fighting with himself over it for at least an hour now, and since a nurse was here, it was his best chance. Thankfully speaking wouldn’t be too difficult. His throat still hurt, but he’d gotten another nurse to bring him a lot of water earlier, which Sam had mostly used to wash out the awful taste in his mouth. But no matter how hard he tried it was almost like he could still taste Lucifer’s skin, taste his own blood. A little shiver ran through him as he fought to drag his mind away from it. Pain lanced through his face, and that was when he realized he was clenching his jaw.

Josiah injected some medicine into his IV, and Sam watched the yellow liquid make its way through the tube and into his arm. And then it was like a rush of sensation went through him, or maybe it was lack of sensation. Either way, it felt _good_. He sighed, feeling himself sink down into the bed. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been since his pain had started making itself known to him.

“That better?” he asked him.

Sam nodded, smiled a little. It was a wonder what a lack of pain could do to make someone feel better. There was still an underlying ache everywhere, but there was no explaining that or getting help for it.

Sam responded, his voice light, “Definitely.”

Some part of him still wanted to fight when Josiah started taking his temperature and blood pressure, but with the help of the medicine, he remained still. As he changed out his IV bags, Sam finally worked up the courage - scraping it up from whatever was left of him - to say, “I want to have a bath.”

He’d expected the nurse to wince at his request, especially since everyone seemed to be a little frightened of him, but instead, he continued his work as he calmly explained, “You’re too injured to do that on your own.”

“I know.”

He eyed him with concern. “And you’ll be okay?”

Sam wanted to shrug, but he couldn’t really do that while laying there. Besides, doing so might pull at the wound in his back.

“Not sure,” he answered quietly, knowing that Josiah was referring to his emotional state. At least he wasn’t tiptoeing around it like everyone else. Sam appreciated that. It made him feel like less of a freak.

“I don’t want to risk you hurting yourself again, or anyone else for that matter,” he told him honestly, finishing up with the IV bags. “But if you think you’re up for it…”

“I just…” Sam looked away, swallowed past the bile that rose in his throat, his skin crawling. “I just want to be clean.”

He didn’t just want to be clean. He _needed_ to be clean. He didn’t want to lie there knowing that he was disgusting, that he’d been ravaged by Lucifer, didn’t want any evidence of their time together to remain on him. He’d been wiped off in the ambulance, and surely for the surgeries as well, but it wasn’t _enough_. Sam just wanted to immerse himself in scalding water till his skin burned all over, till Lucifer’s touch was gone from him.

A bitter laugh left him. At least he didn’t feel as disgusting inside of him. The electrocauterization had already taken care to burn Lucifer’s touch from him.

Josiah didn’t draw attention to Sam laughing and informed him, “I can clean you if you want, but given the way you’ve been reacting violently to our care I’ll need another nurse to help me. Is that still okay?”

Sam didn’t like that. Didn’t even like that Josiah had to do this for him. But then a thought struck him.

“There was a nurse in here last night,” Sam began. “A woman.”

“Ah yes, that would be Sarah,” Josiah supplied helpfully, a smile on his face.

“Is… Is she around?” he questioned tentatively.

“As a matter of fact, she is.”

Sam felt a small sense of relief at that, and then requested, “Would she be able to help you?”

Josiah responded instantly, and that put Sam at ease, “Of course.”

Maybe he wasn’t in such bad hands after all. Sarah had helped him last night, and truthfully, he’d chosen her because she’d already seen so much of his skin. Sam didn’t really feel like adding more people to the list of those who’d seen him without clothes than he absolutely had to. The fact that she was a woman helped as well. Though he recognized that he’d been hurt by women before (one particular person came to mind, but he closed the lid on that thought before he could start hurting even more), the fact that he’d been tortured and used by a man this time, and so brutally at that, stuck with him. So while Sam felt unsafe and uncomfortable around everyone, being taken care of by Sarah wasn’t his worst option.

And he looked Josiah over again, his pulse beginning to race as he noticed that the nurse clearly worked out. Sam was still so injured. If he wanted to he could…

_No, Sam. Now you’re just being ridiculous._

“I’ll go see if I can get her to help. If she’s busy do you want to hold off on this?”

“I…” Sam started to answer, but then he trailed off, realizing he wasn’t sure. The fact that Josiah even asked him made his dark thoughts recede back into the damage in his soul. He could trust this man. He had to. But what he was asking… Sam didn’t know. Did he have it in him to let someone he’d never even met before help clean him? He’d be clean, but… there’d be another person added to that list. That list was already much longer than he wanted it to be.

Then, Sam realized, what did it matter? Josiah was asking for the sake of his dignity. But what dignity did he even have left? Surely it was gone by now; torn apart and burned to ashes. Lucifer had severed it from him, destroyed it before his very eyes, before Dean, before Castiel. Sam had nothing left. So there was no need in trying to preserve it. It was impossible to preserve what wasn’t there.

“I just want to be clean,” he repeated.

His sore throat began to hurt even more, and his eyes stung a little. A tear made its way down his cheek, yet the shame that constantly whispered in his ear didn’t change its words, didn’t grow in volume. Sam believed that he had the right to cry, so really, there was no point in feeling worse for doing so.

Josiah clearly noticed, but thankfully didn’t mention it, just informed him in a voice still filled with that kindly warmth, “I’ll be back in a few minutes then.”

Before he left he gave him a smile, one that seemed hopeful more than pitying. In Sam’s current state it didn’t feel reassuring at all, but he recognized the effort for what it was.

Once Sam was all alone, he continued crying, grieving the death of his dignity.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I know. It's been _ages_ since I updated this story. But I've been writing other things, life throws a lot at me as usual, _and_ this chapter was a freakin' piece of work. I had to do so much research for the first scene, and had to do a crap ton of thinking for the other scenes in here. It wasn't easy, and I'm sorry it took so long.
> 
> WARNING: There's technically some incest in this chapter. Satan's idea, not mine.

As time wore on Sam forgot where he was, forgot why he’d been crying, forgot why he had a sense of anticipation. There was a hospital room in his blurry, tear-filled vision, and some part of him knew that it was his hospital room and that he was, for the moment, safe. That part of him was small and he was barely able to register it. More tears threatened to fall, his throat aching, as he heard Lucifer’s voice in his head, as he felt him against him, felt the knife going into his back. He heard his own screams, mixed in with Dean’s, smelled the heavy, metallic scent of blood, felt it running over his skin.

“ _Oh, Sam. I forgot how much fun you can be._ ”

_No. He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here._

“ _You really shouldn’t have your mouth open like that, Sam. It’s giving me ideas._ ”

_No, no, no…_

“ _So how do you want to do this, bunk buddy?”_

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears as best he could, as if he could block out what he was hearing, what memories were tormenting him.

“ _Admit it, Sammy. You’re helpless._ ”

A sob shook Sam’s shoulders and then he started finding it difficult to breathe. Castiel’s blue eyes appeared to him, and Lucifer’s cold laughter sounded in his head as the eyes shifted to an evil, glowing red.

“ _There we go, Sammy. On your knees, just as you should be._ ”

He bit his lip against another sob, and a whimper came out instead. He tried focusing on anything but this - the malleable solidity of the bed beneath him, the sheet over him, the strange yet gentle tug he felt on his arms from the IVs - and it all faded away from him, those sensations meaning nothing compared to the very real memories of Lucifer touching him.

“ _Have you missed me, Sam?_ ”

_This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t-_

“ _Okay, Sam Winchester, I’ll make you my bitch, just ‘cause you asked me so nicely._ ”

And then he was taken over by his own screams again, screams that were soon joined by Lucifer’s sickening, euphoric moans. And it sounded like _Cas_.

This time when Sam pleaded with his memories, he did so with his voice, murmuring, “No, no, no, no, no…”

His already aching stomach twisted in on itself, and he groaned quietly from the dreadful feeling. Then, sensation didn’t make sense to him anymore. There was just overwhelming pain and pleasure devouring him, the memories of it burning through his mind. No other feeling existed. That pain, that pleasure, it lived inside him, and he wasn’t sure it would ever truly leave.

“ _Sammy…_ ”

“No. No.”

“Sam.”

The sensations faded, his agony somehow ending up on the back burner, and he took in a shaky breath. He blinked his tears away and found himself looking at Josiah. There was another nurse behind him, Sarah, he guessed. Sam hadn’t really taken in her features the night before, had been too busy being swallowed whole by torment. She was tall for a woman, and she had pale skin, and long dark hair that framed her round face. A quick look at her blue eyes made pain flash through him again, so he averted her gaze.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Josiah soothed. “You’re with us.”

He nodded slowly, taking his hands away from his ears.

“We won’t hurt you,” Sarah told him, and though part of Sam didn’t want to believe her, he forced himself to. She joined Josiah at the side of his bed and asked, “Are you still feeling up for having a bath?”

Sam’s skin crawled and his stomach clenched at the simple reminder that he wasn’t clean. And then he nodded again, more emphatically this time.

Josiah tilted his head to Sarah, saying, “You can get the water ready.” Then he turned back to him. “Okay, Sam, I’m gonna need to take your pants off, and then I’ll help you sit up.”

At those words Sam almost wanted to tell them to stop, that maybe they could do this later, but he made sure those words never left his mouth. He had to get clean. He couldn’t keep lying there with Lucifer’s touch on him. If he’d been able to he would’ve already cleaned himself on his own, but he just couldn’t, and he hated that. Lucifer had made him helpless, helpless to a point he’d never been before. He couldn’t even trust his mind; he thankfully wasn’t hallucinating him again, but the times he lost touch with reality definitely spoke of someone who was mentally ill. Sam didn’t even want to think about what that meant for him, what it meant for the universe. Maybe it didn’t matter. Amara was going to destroy everything and maybe that was a good thing. Then he’d stop hurting. But dear lord, he hated himself for thinking like that. He hated himself for everything.

Josiah still hadn’t done anything while Sam had been lost in his own turbulent thoughts and he realized that he was waiting for his consent.

“Yeah, okay,” he got out, really just wanting to get this over with.

The man gave him a friendly smile, and then lowered the sheet before he started taking his pants off. As if Sarah knew he’d need a distraction, she came over at just that moment, holding a large, blue plastic bowl filled with water.

“Is this warm enough?” she asked, lowering the bowl to him so he could dip his fingers in and feel the temperature.

Sam did so, his mind wandering back to Lucifer for just a few seconds as he felt his skin being bared, but then he was able to pay attention to the water. It was warm enough, but he wanted it warmer, wanted it hot, nearly scalding. He knew the nurses wouldn’t let him get away with that, but he could at least try.

“Warmer,” he commented, pulling his fingers out.

He wanted to shake his hand to get the water off, but that would surely only make his injured finger hurt, so he resisted the urge to do so. A growl threatened to rise up from his chest when Josiah got his pants off, but he felt at ease when he didn’t even bring attention to it. He just started helping Sam sit up. He thought maybe he could’ve done that part on his own, but it was a lot easier with Josiah bracing him with a hand in between his shoulder blades. His skin bristled since his hand was only a few inches from the knife wound on his back, but he thankfully didn’t touch it. Some part of him knew it was ridiculous to think he would touch it, but he still remembered Lucifer stepping on his back as he’d tried to get away. Still remembered how much it hurt. His back burned as he thought of it.

Sarah soon came over and had Sam test the water again. It was probably as hot as they would let it get, so he just nodded his head. She passed the bowl to Josiah, who now stood on the other side of him, and he placed it on a plastic table he must’ve wheeled in while Sam had been too lost to realize where he was. There was another bowl on it and he grabbed it, passing it to Sarah. There were other materials on the table as well, a yellow, plastic bag, washcloths, towels, soap, shampoo, a razor, shaving cream, and even a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Josiah pulled the sheet over his unclothed lower half and then started unhooking him from his IVs.

“I’ll take your johnnie off next, okay, Sam?”

“ _Let’s start with your clothes. Do you want to take them off, or shall I?_ ”

Sam growled at hearing Lucifer’s voice in his head, the very words drilling fear into him. But he stayed in touch with reality, forcing himself to answer Josiah: “Sure.”

This time since Sarah couldn’t prove as a distraction, Josiah asked, “So how have you been doing today?” Sam opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but before he could, Josiah added, “Regarding the pain you’re in, I mean.”

“Better since you gave me that medicine.”

“Any places where it’s worse?”

The johnnie was off him now and Josiah placed it in a laundry bag that was near his feet. He started hooking him back up to his IVs again.

Sam wished he could somehow explain that his very soul hurt, but there was no way to do that, so he answered as Josiah finished with his IVs, “My back, I think.”

He thought it was his back, at least. Sometimes it was his hands, other times his stomach. And sometimes he felt like he was being stabbed and torn apart. But Sam couldn’t even tell if that pain was real or not since he was on so much pain medicine. A lot of it just made him feel numb, yet still the pain persisted.

“But I’m just sore everywhere,” he went on. “It’s uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable was an understatement, but he didn’t know what else to say. That, and he didn’t even really feel like he was able to tell other people that it was unbearable, that it was making him slowly lose his mind. Sam could deal with pain, but the reasons for _why_ he was in pain were just too much.

Sarah came back over, giving Josiah the bowl of water.

“We’ll be gentle then,” Sarah informed him as she pulled on a pair of gloves.

For some reason her putting on gloves made him more nervous. Prickly heat curled in his stomach, and he shifted his legs uncomfortably.

Having them clean him was unbearable, and his hands were tense, wanting to grip the sheet. It made his fractured knuckles and finger throb. Sarah was right. They were gentle with him. But he hated that he needed help with this, hated that Lucifer had injured him so much, hated that they surely knew what had been done to him. Sarah seeing him didn’t bother him so much, and Josiah’s presence was warm and the farthest thing from malevolent, but it still bothered him that he was a man. Sam found it ironic that usually it’d be the other way around, that he should feel ashamed from being seen like this in a woman’s presence, but it was too ingrained in him that it’d been someone in the body of a man who’d hurt him. They talked to him as they did so, always checking with him before cleaning a certain area, and Sam was grateful for that. But what was odd about it was that, typically, being cleaned by someone else was an intimate experience. Sam didn’t want that intimacy, hadn’t wanted it in a long time, but it was almost awkward that all that intimacy had been replaced with clinical professionalism. They were friendly though, people Sam felt like he could trust, at least with this. When they began to discuss more than what they were doing, asking him questions about his well-being, Sam began to feel as if they were multitasking, assessing him, checking up on his mental state. Sam wasn’t sure how well he was doing with that part of the conversation. To most of their questions he wanted to answer with something sarcastic, so he kept his mouth shut. Talking to them about how he felt because of all this was especially difficult since each touch made him think of the Devil.

He had especially thought of Lucifer when they’d first started cleaning him, when Sarah had cleaned his genitals (causing Sam to blush as he’d thought of how he’d accidently reacted to her touch there the night before), and as Josiah cleaned his legs. But thankfully, when they finished with that part they’d covered him with a towel. Though, Sam supposed it didn’t matter that much since his dignity was nonexistent as it was. He wasn’t sure there was a way to ever bring it back, and that pained him.

As they cleaned his torso and his arms, the urge to attack them was growing in him, embedding itself into his tensing muscles with each second. So after they helped get him onto his side, which put his back to Josiah, Sam requested in a small voice, “C-can you restrain me again?”

Both nurses paused.

“Are you sure?” Sarah asked.

Shame made Sam blush as he admitted, “All this, it’s hard. It’s… It’s making me want to attack you. Both of you. I’m sorry.”

Thankfully neither of them tried telling him he was safe. He _knew_ that, but he just didn’t _feel_ it.

Sam closed his eyes, a tear slipping free as Sarah gently grabbed his left wrist and brought it over to where the padded leather strap was. Even with that it was difficult to not writhe out of her grip and punch her in the face.

“I’m not usually like this,” Sam told them in a gruff voice, hoping they would believe him.

“We understand,” Josiah told him. “You’re hurting, you feel frightened and vulnerable. In your case I think anyone would react with violence.”

“But I hate it. It’s not _me_.”

It _wasn’t_ him. He could hurt monsters, could hurt those that threatened innocent people. But to actually attack those who were trying to help him just because he was afraid? God, he was like an animal. He didn’t want to be that, didn’t want to be whatever Lucifer had turned him into. But he was exactly that. He was a wounded, vicious animal who just felt the need to lash out. The restraints were proof of that fact.

As Sarah tightened the leather strap around his left ankle, she said, “And we believe you. You’ve been through something horrific. It’ll take time for you to stop reacting like you’re in danger.”

“I just hope it’s sometime soon. I don’t like this.”

Sam wanted to add that he didn’t like any of it, didn’t even really like himself, but he kept quiet about all that.

“Is it alright if we continue?” Josiah asked.

“I’m tied down, so you might as well,” he said bitterly.

“Sam,” Josiah began, “I want you to understand that it’s not mandatory for us to finish with this. If it’s too much for you-”

“Please, just clean me,” Sam interrupted, his tone desperate.

The thought of them not finishing was just too dreadful, and his stomach didn’t seem to really like it either. He’d get through this. There was no other way.

A few seconds passed and then Josiah started cleaning his back, being careful to avoid his wound. He’d explained that after they’d finished this he’d have to clean it with a mixture of warm water, a little bit of soap, and hydrogen peroxide, but for now it was left untouched. Sam clenched his jaw, which made it ache, as Josiah continued cleaning him there. His stomach churned as screams sounded in his head.

“Wait,” he got out in a strained voice.

Instantly, the nurse pulled back, and Sam let out a large exhale, making him realize that he’d been holding his breath.

“Sarah, could you actually clean my back?”

She smiled at him, telling him, “Of course.”

And then she switched places with Josiah. The man now stood where he could see him, keeping an eye on him to make sure he wasn’t about to lash out. But Sam felt better about it, had an easier time relaxing.

He did like Josiah, so he felt guilty as he admitted, “Men scare me now.”

“Would your brother scare you?”

He’d been averting his gaze, not having it in him to look at Josiah, but he looked to him in surprise at his question.

“You know I have a brother?”

“Yes. Sarah told me about him, and I took care of him earlier today.”

“How is he?” Sam asked immediately.

“Physically, I’d say he’s not as bad as you. Still seriously injured of course, but he took a bath on his own.”

Sam grit his teeth at that, but managed to say, “That’s good.”

“It is, but you still didn’t answer my question.”

“Huh?”

Sam suddenly tensed when he felt Sarah lowering the towel, and he tried to grab her wrist to stop her. Because of his cast he only succeeded in knocking her hand away from him. But that wasn’t enough. She was still too close to him. His heart began to pound and he frantically pulled at his restraints.

Oh god, she wanted to touch him, to hurt him, to...

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sarah soothed, holding both her hands up in a peaceful gesture. “It’s okay. I just need to clean your buttocks.”

Sam barely heard her words. He was too busy listening to his own screams mixed with Lucifer’s moans playing on loop. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he kept his eyes on her, hoping his glare was menacing. And if he wasn’t restrained he’d surely get off the bed and throw her against a wall. But he had to get free first. He just had to. Still, no matter how hard he pulled at the leather straps, they still held him.

Sam turned, glancing at the one that held his left wrist, and then he started clawing at it with his right hand. Pain made him pause and he looked at his right hand in confusion. Right. It was in a cast. He stopped what he was doing, just as Josiah started reaching out to grab him. He let out a wordless cry, begging for Josiah to stay back. He just had to stay away from him. Everyone did.

They were going to hurt him, they were going to use him, and there was nothing he could do. Why had he asked to be restrained? Why had he trusted them? Why, why, _why_?

Then he realized where his thoughts had headed, realized how far fetched they were, but his blood was still pumping fiercely through him, and he felt like hands were on him.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he started muttering to himself, “He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here.”

_Just breathe, Sam. Breathe._

But he couldn’t breathe. He felt trapped, utterly helpless, and it horrified him, freezing his blood and making him sick to his stomach. Sam still pulled at his restraints, and then he felt pressure against his back, against his wound.

“ _Sammy, where do you think you’re going?_ ”

His will to fight left him when he realized he had already lost. And it wasn’t now that he had lost. It was the day before.

Sam had lost.

Reality started coming back to him - the hospital, Josiah, Sarah. He took in a shuddering breath and then croaked out, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Sarah told him. “You didn’t hurt us.”

“Are you sure those restraints are a good idea?” Josiah asked.

Sam’s abdomen convulsed as he held in a sob, and then he just nodded, unsure of what to say. And he feared that if he opened his mouth to speak he’d start wailing instead.

Despite how much he hated them, the restraints were a good idea. Without them he would’ve already hurt more people, would’ve hurt himself. But hopefully they would finish bathing him soon so they could come off. He felt too powerless this way and it made it impossible to relax.

Josiah clenched his jaw and turned his head away, showing Sam that he hadn’t liked seeing him like that. A blush crept up Sam’s neck, shame gnawing away at him, and he lowered his gaze. Sarah started pulling the towel off of him again and he tilted his head to her. She instantly stilled, her facial expression not holding fear as he’d expected. It was simply questioning, wondering if it was okay for her to continue. He barely looked her in the eye, hating that the blue reminded him of Castiel, of Lucifer, and instead of answering, he simply turned away. She understood and continued with what she was doing.

Instead of reminding Sam of his earlier question Josiah asked, “What goes through your head when you feel like you have to defend yourself? I’m just curious, and maybe talking about it will help.”

“I don’t see how talking about it would help. You don’t… You don’t know what it’s like.”

“You’re right, Sam. I don’t know what it’s like. But you can tell me.”

Sam frowned at him, and once again, the feeling that Sarah and Josiah were multitasking came back to him. “This is just to check up on my mental health, isn’t it?” Sam asked blandly. “You don’t really _care_. Besides, who would want to hear about what happened to me? What happened was evil, just downright evil.”

“We do care,” Sarah insisted, and Sam let out a bitter laugh at her words. It wasn’t their job to care about what happened to him. They were just supposed to make sure he was comfortable, weren’t they? Keep up to date on his physical health and how he was healing? Clean him? Besides, Sam wasn’t sure he could talk about what they were asking him to. It was just too much. “We do,” she insisted.

“If you care,” he said, “then don’t ask. You don’t want to know what I went through.”

He didn’t even want to know what he went through. He once again had the overwhelming urge to somehow rip his memories right out of his head, to burn them, to make sure no part of them existed. He just wanted them _gone_.

But that wouldn’t happen. He had to live with the horror, the helplessness, the humiliation, the disgust, the sheer, unadulterated terror, the torment that lived in his soul. He had to live with all of it and it would never go away. And these nurses, they’d never understand. Even if they tried to, they never could, and he didn’t want them to. He didn’t want anyone else to know his pain, his anguish. Only Dean knew. And Cas. His brother and his best friend. And oh god, to think that Castiel was _still_ with Lucifer, that he was still suffering after all the Devil had put them through.

He couldn’t even imagine what Lucifer was doing to Castiel, because surely he was still tormenting him. Using him to hurt him and Dean wouldn’t have been enough for him. Sam knew how Lucifer was. Once he got a taste of someone, got a taste of their suffering, he just couldn’t stop. Somehow, once he could get out of bed on his own, he’d have to save Castiel. Just picturing him in his mind’s eye now terrified him, made his heart start racing, but he _knew_ it wasn’t Cas who had hurt him. He just wished his emotions would get on the same page. His emotions were a lot more confusing. They feared Castiel’s body, felt sickened by his voice, hated him for letting Lucifer hurt him, despaired that he was still _with_ Lucifer. It was all such a mess. And Sam _knew_ Castiel hadn’t let Lucifer hurt him, but that didn’t stop anger from filling him. He hated himself for feeling that, and that reason for hating himself just piled on top of all the rest. Somehow that pile had yet to collapse.

“Okay, then you don’t have to tell us,” Josiah said. “But we’re here if you want to talk.”

Sam had a strange feeling that they’d also document his reluctance to talk. Either way he felt like he couldn’t win. Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Did you know him?” Sarah suddenly asked, drawing him from his confused thoughts about Castiel.

“What?”

“Your attacker. Did you know him?”

Sam hissed in a breath as Sarah brought the washcloth lower, and then he answered darkly, “Yes.”

Technically, he knew Lucifer better than he knew anyone. There hadn’t been anyone he’d spent more time with.

Memories from the Cage began to bombard him, and it took all of his willpower to not yell from sheer frustration with himself. He was already hurting as it was. He didn’t need those horrid memories of the Cage to make things worse. And oh god, he _hated_ that he knew Lucifer so well, hated that, now, looking back on the day before, he wasn’t even surprised that Lucifer had raped him again. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair! He wanted to yell at God, ask him why he’d let any of this happen. Was God even out there? He had to be. God’s sister freakin’ existed, was walking the Earth, so where was he? Why wasn’t he answering for any of this?

He didn’t realize he’d started crying again until Josiah said, “I’m sorry. It was stupid of us to take you down that road. Um… What about my question from earlier? Would you be scared of Dean?”

Hearing his brother’s name made his stomach clench with guilt, and he heard him crying out as Lucifer took him. Oh god, Dean should’ve never had to go through that. Sam had failed him. But then he thought on Josiah’s question.

“No, of course not.”

There’d certainly been times in the past when he’d been frightened of his brother, had even been terrified of him; especially when he’d been a demon, and when he’d bore the Mark of Cain on his arm. He’d even been a little frightened of him after he’d found out he’d helped Gadreel possess him without his consent. That fear had quickly passed, giving in to anger and sadness. But still, underneath all those complicated and confusing emotions was love. At the end of the day, no matter what, he loved Dean, loved him with all his heart.

“I want to see him, but…” He sighed. “I’m not even sure if he wants to see me.”

“Why would you say that?” Sarah asked as she started carefully drying him by patting a towel against his skin.

Sam didn’t answer, not wanting to start talking about the finer details of being attacked by the Devil. That would be too much.

Thankfully, Josiah broke the tense silence by saying, “Don’t worry. He wants to see you.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“I think it was mixed in with all the insults, yes.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. That definitely sounded like Dean.

“Sorry,” he said though he felt no remorse for whatever his brother had said.

Josiah waved a hand. “You don’t have to apologize. He’s hurting too. Anger’s probably his way of expressing it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Alright,” Sarah cut in, “now we can wash your hair if you want.”

Lucifer’s hand was in his hair, pulling on it. Sam trembled from the memory, and then told them, “Please.”

He needed to get rid of Lucifer’s touch _everywhere_.

So they washed his hair, toweled it dry, and even brushed his teeth. Sam turned down Josiah’s offer to shave his face - he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have something sharp near him. Once they’d dressed him in clean pants, and a white t-shirt (Sam was thankful for that, he’d begun hating the johnnie) Sarah cleaned everything up while Josiah hooked him back up to his IVs. Sam thanked them just before they left. It was difficult to do so given that he still hated he’d needed help in the first place. But Sarah’s help, and Josiah’s, had been more than worth it.

He was clean.

 

After his bath Dean was wiped out. Doing such a simple thing had exhausted him more than he thought it would, and it had set his body aching once again. Thankfully he was able to escape that for a few hours with sleep, but eventually the pain woke him up. The pain was different than it had been before. There was the usual deep aching and throbbing, but now it was like his shoulder was radiating small waves of heat. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t bother calling for a nurse to inform them. Surely the doctor was already aware of it. Besides, he needed to be alone to think through some things. He had to plan. Dean wanted to see Sam and he didn’t want it to be set up by their doctors or nurses or whoever the hell he’d have to go through. He knew they’d surely want to supervise the visit, and Dean wasn’t about to have any of that. He didn’t know how he’d react when he saw Sam, he didn’t know what his treacherous mind would think of upon being with his brother again. He didn’t know if he’d yell or if he’d cry or if he’d try to hug him, if Sam could even be hugged. Dean didn’t know, and he was terrified. What would they even talk about? What was there to talk about? The shame and the guilt was burning a hole in his chest, and Dean wasn’t sure he could face his brother without that hole widening. But he had to. He _had_ to. Sam needed him, he needed Sam. So Dean was going to lie there and plan a way to get out of his room and get to Sam. He had to succeed. He just had to.

As it turned out, just lying there wasn’t so easy. Well, it was easy for the fact that it hurt to get out of bed, but the heat in his shoulder had grown worse, and he was sweating now, which annoyed him since that meant he’d have to struggle through taking another bath.

He didn’t like the heat in his shoulder, and he started to realize what it meant, but he was too out of it to process that maybe he should tell someone. Besides, Dean didn’t want to talk to anyone. To talk to them they’d have to be in the room. They’d have to see him, and he’d only be met with their blurry figures.

Lucifer was biting his shoulder again, his teeth digging through his flesh without a care in the world. He made it seem easy, and since he was an archangel it probably had been. The pain in Dean’s body was a very powerful reminder that humans were much more fragile than God’s most fearsome weapons.

He felt the vibrations of Lucifer’s voice against his skin as he bit him, and he burned inside. Even though some part of Dean knew he was in a hospital bed and not in the bunker library he could’ve sworn he felt himself getting penetrated all over again.

Those feelings grew till he couldn’t bear it, and he wasn’t sure if he was crying again or not. Dean didn’t think he had anymore tears left to cry. It grew till he thought he was about to start screaming, till his body was overcome with heat and heavy darkness, and then it was like it vanished. He was numb, save for the burning in his shoulder.

With that numbness came the realization that he was in his bed. He’d known he had been before, but it was also as if he hadn’t. He’d been able to see the blurry shapes and shades of the room, but it was like it wasn’t real, wasn’t important. Only the library was.

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relaxing what muscles he could as he did so. He was going to lie there and figure out how to get to Sam.

 

Castiel wasn’t sure where he got the courage to do what he was about to do. He kept telling himself it was a relatively small thing, really. It had to be. It wasn’t like he would be asking much of Lucifer. But he’d gotten tired of the dungeon, had gotten tired of his own thoughts. He wasn’t sure if Lucifer had used his body to hurt anyoneelse, but he wouldn’t be surprised. He doubted it was anything sexual though. For some reason Lucifer liked to make him feel that. And Castiel couldn’t decide if it was because he was trying to hurt him with it, or if he was trying to get him on his side, to show him how “fun” it could be. It wasn’t fun. People got hurt.

_Sam and Dean…_

“Lucifer,” Castiel called out to the silent dungeon. “I have a request.”

Nothing. Maybe he was ignoring him.

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was relieved from that or not. The way Lucifer had been touching him earlier unnerved him. Sure, he’d just touched his face, and had bit his ear, but…

He was scared, he was so scared. If he was human he figured he’d be shaking from it.

“Lucifer!”

Still nothing.

Castiel sighed, leaned back against the far wall and crossed his arms. Maybe his brother thought he was just going to complain. Castiel wanted to. He wanted to do much more than that. He wanted to break down into sobs, but he’d already done that many, many times since he’d hurt Sam and Dean. It had emotionally exhausted him. All of this had done that.

Maybe the Devil would listen if he explained himself a bit more.

“I don’t want to argue with you, brother,” he told him, knowing he was listening. Lucifer was probably always listening, probably got off to his screams. “I just want to ask you something.”

When Lucifer still didn’t respond that time, Castiel let out a growl and started pacing. He had to stop himself from running a hand through his hair and pulling at it. That wasn’t really something he tended to do, was more something Dean did, but this had all worn on him so much and he just didn’t know what to do or how to find any relief. He was trapped in his own body, which was being controlled by his brother who had used him to wrong his best friends. His stomach hurt just thinking about it, and it was like his own Grace was suffering from it. He could feel it, hurting, crying out, just as he constantly was in the back of his mind now.

A long sigh sounded behind him, and he jumped, whirring towards the sound. Lucifer stood there, his arms crossed.

“Why should I do anything for you?” he asked. “Last time we chatted you were very mean.”

Castiel pressed his lips into a thin line, turning his head to the side. Mean? _Mean?_ He’d said he’d hated Lucifer, because he’d violated yet another person, because he’d made him drink demon blood. Cas swallowed roughly at the thought, as if the taste was still on his tongue. Sometimes it seemed like it was. He felt tainted from that.

He clenched his hands into fists, trying to tell himself that point wasn’t worth arguing. But maybe it was. His brother was trying to make himself the victim, just as he always did.

“I wasn’t _mean_ ,” Castiel told him, trembling slightly as he forced himself to lift up his head and meet his gaze. Lucifer’s mouth was open slightly as he observed him and it was unnerving. “You made me taste demon blood! You forced it on me.”

A shrug that had Castiel clenching his fists even tighter till his knuckles popped. He’d been tired and despondent earlier, just… _done_ , but now, now he was furious.

“What can I say? It’s some good stuff. How about we try some angel blood next? Bet you’d like that!”

Castiel let out a scream and lunged himself at him. Lucifer calmly side-stepped, and shoved a hand against Castiel’s back, using more than enough force to send him sprawling and crashing into the wall. Though this was in his mind he started bleeding from a cut on his brow bone. But Castiel wasn’t done yet.

He lunged at Lucifer again, and Lucifer just grabbed him and twisted him around so that his hands were trapped behind his back and Lucifer’s arm was around his throat.

“Fighting now, are we?” he asked, voice silken and menacing. “I thought you had a request.”

Castiel struggled against him, his voice leaving him in choked grunts. He eventually gave in, and relaxed his body, letting Lucifer know he wasn’t going to fight any longer.

He wanted to cry; felt stupid for even trying to fight him. He’d lose. He’d always lose. Castiel was weak, useless, helpless, pathetic, tainted, and Lucifer was Lucifer.

His brother let him go, and Castiel stumbled away from him, a hand around his aching throat as blood dripped down closer to his eyelid. Anger still boiled in his blood, but despair was quickly moving in and taking over again, consuming all his other emotions.

He lowered his head. “Before… Before you _hurt_ them, you let me watch TV. I… I was wondering if I’d be allowed that again.”

Castiel had half expected Lucifer to start laughing, but what he hadn’t expected was to suddenly feel his hands cupping his cheeks and lifting his head up towards him. His gaze was gentle, and it was perhaps more frightening than the times it was harsh and predatory. It seemed… _real_ , but he knew how Lucifer was. He wasn’t called the Father of Lies for nothing. If he wanted to he could probably manipulate anyone on the planet, any demon in Hell, and any angel in Heaven. So Castiel didn’t believe that gentle gaze as he was forced to stare into it. A shudder ran through him.

“Tired of your own thoughts?” he asked.

Castiel licked his lips which suddenly felt very dry, and then he answered slowly, “Yes.”

“And why should I give you anything?”

Was his brother asking him to bargain with him? He’d already bargained with him once, and now he was sorely regretting it. But he didn’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t said yes. Or… he did. Dean would’ve died. Sam might’ve gotten raped again and then possessed.

 _But he did get raped again, anyway,_ Castiel told himself sullenly. _And it’s your fault._

“Because I gave you my body,” he eventually answered. “Surely that counts for something.”

Lucifer smiled, patted his cheek fondly. “It does, Castiel. It does. Thank you.”

Then one hand went into his hair, and Castiel looked to the side as he did so, trying to follow its movement. The other did nearly the same, except his thumb was against his cheekbone near his ear. Lucifer pulled lightly, and Castiel looked back at him.

By then he saw that he was getting closer to him. He widened his eyes, unsure of what was happening.

“W-what are you doing?” he questioned quietly, his voice rough from the sudden fear that filled him and felt like ice cold water being dumped directly into his bloodstream.

“Come on, Cas, you had to see this coming,” he told him, voice lowered. His pupils were larger now and it made Castiel want to run away, but there was nowhere to go.

Lucifer backed him up to the wall, and Castiel’s breath was coming in terrified, stuttered gasps.

He lowered his head to his ear, and ran his tongue along his earlobe, stealing his breath. “Remember when we first met?” he asked him. “During the Apocalypse? It was so hard to keep myself off of you. Then again, sometimes it’s hard to keep myself off of anyone. Being in power, using sex to be in power - it’s a wonderful feeling. And I wanted you. If you had joined me I would’ve fucked you right there in that house before I went to raise Death. Would’ve even done so with Meg watching.” He laughed lightly, and the sound had Castiel pressing himself into the wall even more, wishing there was an escape. His words turned his stomach, and made it hard to breathe. He thought maybe he’d recognized the way Lucifer had been looking at him, but after all these years he’d told himself he’d imagined it. His brother would never… “And now that I’ve seen your body, now that I’ve used it, now that I’ve heard how divine your screams are, I crave you even more. So I am going to do this, and you can think of it how you will. Maybe it’s punishment, maybe it’s trying to get you to understand, maybe it’s a thank you.”

“Lucifer,” he said, not sure how his mouth was even working well enough to form words, “No.”

His brother drew back with a laugh, and tapped him on the nose.

“What did I tell you about that word, hmm? Doesn’t work on me. Besides, you already said yes.”

At that, the ice left his veins as his blood heated. The fear in him melted for now, and he growled, shoving his brother off of him.

“That’s _not_ how saying yes works!” he shouted at him. “You think just because I said it once that it means yes all the time for everything? Well, it doesn’t. And let me guess, you think that with Sam, too. Just because he said yes to you one time, _after_ you backed him into a corner, do you think that means you have the right to him till he dies?” He paused, letting Lucifer think about it, and he was speechless. “It doesn’t,” Castiel told him firmly. “ _It_. _Doesn’t_. You manipulated him into saying yes. You made it so that he had no other choice. That’s not a yes! That’s not… that’s not _consent_! Consent is something someone gives of their _own_. _Free._ _Will_. It’s something they can back out of any time they want to, and _they’re listened to_. I said yes to you to save Dean and Sam. To stop the Darkness! I said it for those things, and those things alone. When I said yes I didn’t say you could violate my best friends, I didn’t say you could violate me. And I _definitely_ didn’t say you could do whatever you wanted with my body, no matter who it hurt. So you know what? I’m saying no. Right here, right now. _No_.”

Lucifer gave a laugh that might’ve been from nerves, and he scratched at his face, turning away from him, taking a few steps to the side.

“Uh, you know, you’re talking to me, right? _Me_ .” He turned to him and gestured over his body. “You said yes to this.” And then he put a finger to his head. “You said yes to this. To all that I am. That’s what yes means to angels, as you very well know. And that yes can’t be taken back. You said yes knowing who I am, what I’ve done, and maybe even what I’d do. So, Castiel,” he went on, taking slow steps over to him, his eyes beginning to glow red, “I don’t care that you’re saying no now. It’s meaningless. I’m already inside you. And now, I want to be inside you in your mind, too. So who’s going to stop me, huh? No one. You’re alone. It’s just me. I’m all you have now, all you ever will have.” Castiel was against the wall again, Lucifer’s hands on either side of his face, his breath blowing over him with each word, his voice getting rougher as his anger mounted, “So take your ideas of consent and keep them to yourself! Your consent is mine _now_ and _forever_ . It doesn’t change. It can’t change. I don’t give a damn what you want. I only care about what you gave. And what you gave was your body, your mind, your memories, your entire _being_ . So I’m going to take it. I’m going to take all of it until you either understand _why_ or until you’re the most miserable, wretched creature in existence. Castiel, with enough time, I could ruin you even more than I ruined Sam Winchester.” He reached out and grabbed his chin, making their eyes meet. Castiel could barely see him because of the tears blurring his vision, and his heart was thudding rapidly in his chest. “So be very careful as to how you speak to me, brother.”

Then Lucifer’s lips were touching his, and Castiel didn’t have the air to scream. He forgot how to breathe, forgot how to move, forgot how to speak, to make any sound with his vocal cords. Forgot everything save for how Lucifer had used his body. He heard Sam and Dean’s screams in his head, their scent filling his nostrils, the air thick with blood. He felt them against him, inside him. And he felt Lucifer’s lips against him, cold and unforgiving and hungry.

He pulled away, his eyes back to that dull blue.

“I think I’ve held back long enough,” he told him, his tone breathy. “Time to indulge myself.”

Lucifer smiled and Castiel knew he was doomed.

 

Castiel hadn’t been able to fight. One second he was fully clothed and then the next, he wasn’t. Lucifer still had him against the wall, his hands roaming over his body, just as his mouth did. He was sucking on his adam’s apple now, one hand firmly grasping his hip, and Castiel figured he’d leave a bruise. He wouldn’t be surprised if he eventually heard a cracking sound. He wanted to recoil from this touch, but he couldn’t. There was nowhere to go, and he didn’t know how anymore. His thoughts had been racing, thinking of his best friends, and now his thoughts were slow, focusing only on the sensations he was aware of; Lucifer touching his body, what he smelled like, what his breaths sounded like. It was odd that he could smell him even now. He didn’t like how his mind did that. The smell of his brother was… not unpleasant, not at all, but it was overwhelming, and Castiel felt like he was just simply breathing _him_.

He’d tried holding his breath, knew he didn’t _have_ to breathe, though he’d gotten used to it, especially from the time Metatron had taken his Grace and he’d been human. But now, now it was like the thought of not being able to breathe was choking him; fear had wrapped its hand around his throat, squeezing and strangling. So he was breathing, probably hyperventilating, actually.

He’d said no.

_He’d said no._

But he’d said yes. Lucifer was right. He’d said yes. Shouldn’t he have expected this?

 _Stupid! I’m so_ stupid _!_

He’d said yes to the Devil. He’d known what he’d do. He would do what he’d always done. Tear people apart, wreak havoc, drench the world in sin.

Now Castiel felt like he was being drenched in that very same sin as he touched him.

He was running a hand up and down his side, moaning. And then he was biting his neck, making Castiel wince and cry out, but he kept doing it. Over and over again. Sometimes in the same spot, which made it hurt even more. And then he was bleeding and Lucifer was licking at his neck, his tongue wet against his skin, and still cold. He was all cold.

Lucifer pulled back, ran his hand almost lovingly over his neck, making Castiel shiver, his breath leaving him with his voice in it.

“Being too rough?” he teased, his thumb stroking his throat.

And then it went around to the right and dug into the wound he’d made there. Castiel’s breath hitched, and he bucked against him in a vain attempt to get him away from him. Lucifer simply smiled and pressed his hand firmly against the lower part of his abdomen, near his pelvis, keeping him steady. Castiel nearly whined at it.

“Or do you wish this was Dean?” he asked. “I could make myself look like him if you want. Would you prefer that?”

Castiel nodded his head even as he screamed no inside. He kept screaming it, over and over, but it was like his own mind didn’t know what that word meant. It just knew that it was being touched and that Dean had been mentioned. It wanted to be touched more even as he didn’t. Or maybe he did want it. He didn’t know anymore. Lucifer’s painful touches had started to fill his blood with fire. He wasn’t yet hard, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he was.

Lucifer looked him over for a second, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging as best he could. He slowly licked over his bottom lip as he observed him.

“Ha!” he exclaimed. “You and the Winchesters, such subservient bitches. Maybe you all just want to get fucked, huh? I’m surprised you don’t do that to each other all the time. Hell, if I was there with you three I know what I’d want to do. Oh wait! I did do that!”

He kissed him, his tongue entering his mouth, and Castiel wanted to throw up despite the fact that he had nothing in his stomach, that this was all in his head, and that he was angel. He wanted to throw up the taste of Lucifer, wanted it gone. He tried to push him out with his own tongue, but that spurred his brother on, firmly pressing against him now, his tongue exploring so deep he thought he’d start choking if he was human. He already felt like he was choking, suffocating. Breathing and tasting Lucifer.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Lucifer was already in him.

What would be the issue with him being in him in another way?

It was all the same thing, right?

Surely it was.

In him, in him, in him.

Lucifer was in him, and Lucifer would stay in him, and he would find new ways to be in him.

His brother pulled away, his tongue licking over his lips for a second.

“You don’t really want Dean right now,” he figured.

Castiel wanted to tell him no, but the word got stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth, and there it sat, aggravatingly and stubbornly refusing to move. It wouldn’t come out. Nothing would come out. So he started whining.

“But you don’t want me either. So don’t worry, I’m not going to make you choose.”

Lucifer pulled back, letting go of Castiel, and still the angel couldn’t breathe, still tasted him in his mouth, still had his scent filling his nostrils, making him weak with horror and disgust.

“I think I’ve had enough of you for now. Might just let you think about all this.” He winked. “See you later, baby bro.”

Then Lucifer was gone, and Castiel was naked. He didn’t know how to conjure his clothes back, though this was still part of his mind. He didn’t have control anymore, and maybe he never had.

 

It was night when Dean finally got to Sam’s room. His shoulder still radiated heat, and what he’d had to do to get there hadn’t been easy. He’d gotten the guard in his room by faking a breakdown - or maybe it hadn’t been faking it - and while he’d been trying to restrain Dean, something that made him want to rip his skin off, he’d stolen a keycard off of him. Hopefully it would allow him access to different rooms. There was no way his brother wasn’t locked down tight.

And then he’d complained about some pain, had gotten a nurse to bring him morphine. He’d stolen some of that, talked the nurse out of him giving him a larger dose (Dean needed to focus), and after some searching in which he had to get out of bed, his legs trembling, Dean had found a syringe that he’d put the morphine into. To get out of bed he’d also had to disconnect from his IV, but he hadn’t cared much.

He’d gotten the guard in the room again - another breakdown - and then he’d drugged him with the morphine, hoping it was enough to knock him out. He had surely stolen a lot. It was the right amount to knock Dean out, and the guard was a smaller man than he was.

Next came getting out of his room, and it had been difficult since he really only saw blurs, but he’d waited till it was silent in the hallway, no med students or nurses or doctors or visitors around. Empty. Dean hadn’t realized there’d been another guard in the hallway, standing rigidly near Sam’s door until he saw a blur of black moving to him.

He’d asked him what he’d been doing out of his room. Dean had told him a lie about being allowed to walk around, which probably looked ridiculous since he was limping and covered in bruises. The guard must have given him a disbelieving look ‘cause he hadn’t moved.

Dean had mustered up what strength he’d had, and he’d felt more of it thinking that he was so close to Sam. He knew if he hadn’t been injured he would’ve been able to get in a good punch with his right arm since that was his dominant side, but he’d thanked his dad and Bobby for making him train equally with both arms, had settled for his left, and had punched the guard in the temple, ignoring how it’d strained the muscles in his sore body.

The guard crumpled to the floor. Dean had limped around him, made it to what he was sure was Sam’s door, especially after peering closely at the number outside it, his nose right to the wood. He’d slipped the key card from his injured hand, and had placed it in front of what must have been the electronic lock. There was  beep, a blurred flash of green, and then a click.

Dean had smiled, barely daring to breathe, and then he’d dropped the key card and had turned the lock on the door.

He’d made it. He’d made it to Sam.

He heard panicked shuffling as he entered the room, saw a large blurry mass on the bed in the general size of his brother. He must’ve been facing him now.

“D-Dean?” he asked, voice rough and raw.

Heat filled his body as cold washed over his skin and tension filled the air till he thought it would crush him.

He swallowed roughly, forced himself to step inside and close the door, his legs now wanting to give out, his insides aching.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Had to see you,” he answered simply, shambling over to what might’ve been a chair. He sat down on it, groaning as he did so.

“But…” Sam trailed off, and Dean thought maybe he would have mentioned the doctors, or maybe his shame, or maybe his guilt, and Dean was feeling all the same things.

His shame was currently trying to eat him alive, and he was actually glad he couldn’t see Sam that well, or else he knew his guilt would join in on the feast.

“How you doin’?” he asked Sam, not sure what else to ask, not sure what to say, what to do. The chair hurt, and he wanted to join his brother on the bed, but he wasn’t sure if there was room.

His burning shoulder ached and screamed at him, and he gently put a hand to it, trying to comfort himself with his own touch. His own touch was all he wanted now. He’d had enough of someone else’s.

Sam gave a harsh laugh at that, and Dean looked away, his vision suddenly more blurry as his throat ached.

“Yeah, I get it,” he responded. “Sorry, for barging in like this. I… I missed you. I… I’m sorry.”

“Dean…”

“No, Sammy. I’m sorry. I am. I let you go to… to him.” Sam grunted, even though Dean hadn’t said his name, but he knew that he must be getting attacked by memories, just as Dean was now. Skin, so much skin. Blood, Castiel’s scent. Castiel’s voice. No, no. Lucifer’s voice. Lucifer. Oh god, Lucifer. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t do anything. I… I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Sam breathed. He was talking as if his throat hurt him, as if his jaw hurt him, and Dean wouldn’t be surprised. He winced just listening to him.

Dean broke down crying, and then he found himself finding the strength to get up and go to Sam’s bed. He saw some space for himself, space that Sam must’ve made, and he squeezed in next to his brother, almost falling off. Sam was warm against him, and he didn’t mind. He just wanted to hug him, but he knew stretching out his arm and putting it around his body would hurt his burning shoulder. So he lay there, his face near what must’ve been Sam’s face. He could barely make him out in the dark, just saw some of the hazel of his sad, fearful eyes.

Dean wanted his brother to hug him, but he didn’t know if Sam could do that. He’d hurt his back.

“So… what’d they do to you?” Sam asked curiously, dread following behind every word.

“Nothin’ you wanna hear. I’m okay.” He sniffled, tried to get his tears to stop flowing.

Those last two words were a lie, and Sam surely knew it was a lie as well, which was why he didn’t say anything.

“You?” Dean asked.

“Lotta surgeries,” his brother answered quietly. “Gonna get one on my back tomorrow. It got infected. Was told that about an hour ago. Then...”

Dean thought back to his shoulder, thought he should’ve told someone, should’ve had someone check on it, because he felt hot. Was any of this even real? Was he just dreaming? Was this all a dream? Dean didn’t know what real was anymore. Maybe he was just sick.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe reality was just too much for him and he was losing it. Or maybe he’d already lost it. And he’d broken earlier, was sure of it. Maybe with each second he kept breaking.

Dean then realized that Sam had trailed off, and he prompted, “Then what?”

He hoped he hadn’t let the silence drag on too long, hoped that Sam didn’t realize he was sweating. He didn’t want his brother to worry about him. Sam was too hurt already, shouldn’t have to carry that burden. But Sam was Dean’s burden, and Dean loved him, loved having that burden even when it was too heavy, even when it ate him up inside and made him feel hollow. He loved it even when he failed because still there was Sam.

Then it hit Dean.

Alive. His brother was _alive_ , and he was with him.

“Sammy…” he whimpered out, and then he carefully reached out and touched his brother, trying to avoid his back. He knew the shape of his brother pretty well from all the times he’d had to hold him. He found his shoulder, and he gripped him weakly, hurting from the action,

He heard Sam gasp, and then he sniffled. Sam shifted closer to him, groaning, and then Dean felt right. Sam was safe. For now. He was safe for now. He was being taken care of.

“ _Dean_.”

“I gotcha, little brother,” he whispered. “I gotcha.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m here.”

He had to reassure himself that he was there, that he really was holding Sam. Maybe it was just his imagination but Sam felt different. But it could’ve been the IVs or the bandages or the casts, or just the fact that he knew what he’d been through, that he’d seen all of his brother, that Sam had seen all of him. It could’ve been that they’d heard each other screaming, that they’d smelled each other’s blood. Sam felt different. And Dean felt different.

And he just wanted to cry and hold his brother forever.

But then Dean felt his grip weakening, felt like his skin was on fire, like there was a hot iron in his shoulder. And he was whimpering from it and couldn’t stop. Tears no longer tracked down his cheeks, but the pain was still there, and he just wanted it to go away. Dean didn’t think he could hold on anymore, didn’t think he could still hold himself in the bed they were sharing that was too small for both of them.

Then he thought Sam was getting pulled away from him, a blur in his vision, and then black. He was dizzy, his head hurting.

_Sammy!_

He no longer felt his brother against him, no longer felt the bed underneath him. There was a heavy impact, his shoulder exploding in pain, a short scream leaving him, and then Dean was utterly ripped from Sam as blackness ate him.


	6. Chapter 6

One second Dean was holding Sam, his grip weak, and then he wasn’t. There was a loud thump and then a cry and then nothing, not even cursing.

“Dean?” Sam called into the darkness, his jaw and throat aching.

His heart began to race as the silence ensued, no response coming from his brother. He painstakingly moved to the edge of the bed, trying to see Dean through the darkness in the room. His body throbbed with each movement, the IVs pulled at his arms.

“Dean!”

He peered over the bed, his body shaking as he tried to hold himself up so he wouldn’t fall. The muscles in his back trembled, tugging at his wound, the soreness within him digging deeper. Dean was on the floor, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open, and he thought he saw a small darker patch of color on his right shoulder. He must’ve fallen on it, and had then rolled onto his back. Sam tried moving one of his legs off the bed, but that made his thighs hurt, even with the pain medicine he was on (maybe it was wearing off again), and his ruined and cauterized insides didn’t seem to like the movement either.

There was a button to call a nurse in, right? Sam couldn’t remember where, wasn’t sure if he could stretch his arm out to reach it. The blood was rushing in his ears, and all he was thinking about was Dean. He had to help his brother somehow.

He touched a foot to the cold floor, but then he found he couldn’t really straighten himself, so he was left at an odd angle where he was nearly hanging off the bed. It pulled at his stitches, and had his back screaming at him. Sam’s vision blurred as he realized he couldn’t even get to Dean though he was so close to him. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch him with his foot. But he wasn’t close enough to help.

He wasn’t strong enough. He was hurting, and he just wanted to get back in bed.

His heart stinging, feeling like he was somehow betraying his brother, Sam managed to drag himself back into the bed, and when he was lying down on his side again, he was forcing himself to take deep breaths, his heart thudding powerfully in his chest.

“Dean, please wake up.”

Sam was too busy hoping his brother was alright to question how Dean had gotten to him, to think about how guilty and disgusting he felt. Well, with those last two he didn’t have to think about it. He was disgusting, and there was nothing that would change that. Getting clean hadn’t done so. Nothing would. He was just glad it was dark and that he hadn’t had to look at his brother and see the full extent of his damage. Sam idly wondered if Dean had been able to see him at all, if he could see much of anything. His eyes had been damaged, that much he knew, but how badly?

He lay there for a few seconds, his thoughts racing, blood soaking through them, and then he realized he could help his brother even if he couldn’t get him off the floor himself. He felt so stupid for not realizing it earlier, for just jumping at going after Dean and taking care of him himself. Sam felt as if he’d been doing a lot of stupid things lately. Stupid things that made his brother’s agony his fault.

“ _Help!_ ” Sam cried out, his voice cracking.

Calling for help made the yawning chasm of guilt and shame in his chest widen. He didn’t like having to call for help; he didn’t want to have to. He should be able to take care of his brother on his own, like he’d always done. He should! He knew Dean saw it as his duty to protect him, which made it Sam’s duty to protect Dean. And now he was too injured, too weak, too sick, too broken, to do it on his own.

He opened his mouth to shout again, but the door was already opening, the light turning on and blinding him. It was a guard who came in first, and Sam felt like there were hands around his lungs, squeezing them so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

“M-my brother,” Sam got out, pointing weakly with his bandaged hand to where Dean lay on the floor, “he needs help.”

There was a red mark on the guard’s head, looking like he’d been hit, and it was swelling. He didn’t seem too happy, and Sam realized Dean must’ve hit him to get past him and in here.

_Oh, Dean._

Sam knew the guard was supposed to help them, wasn’t allowed to act on his anger, but it still made him uneasy. He had to keep his eyes on him. Looking at him like this, with the door to his back, was straining his neck, but he refused to let him out of his sight. Keeping his gaze on him was made easier when he came around to the side of the bed to look at Dean, quickly assessing the situation. He saw a flash of something in his eyes, something hot, but then he was gone, calling for a nurse. Sam wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but he knew his room might get crowded very shortly.

And it did. At first there was the guard and one nurse, then there were two other nurses, these ones men, and they were so close to Sam, just near his bed. He curled in on himself, watching silently and fearfully as a gurney was brought in and they lifted Dean onto it. There were questions as to how he’d gotten out of his room, how he’d gotten into Sam’s room. There might’ve been another guard now because Sam heard a deep voice mentioning something about possibly upping the security detail.

There were too many people. They were too close. And Sam just wanted to run. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t! Just thinking about running seemed to make his legs hurt. Sam looked at Dean’s face as they wheeled him out, and he looked so peaceful, so relaxed, even with the sweat on his forehead and the white pallor of his skin. Sam wondered what was wrong with him, felt guilt clawing at his gut, but he wished to only focus on the peacefulness in his brother’s face, wanted him to be void of sickness and pain.

He’d seen what Dean looked like while sleeping many times, and he often looked so young, so carefree. That was, when he wasn’t having nightmares. Maybe he could pretend that’s what was happening now, that Dean was just sleeping after a long day and getting the rest he deserved. But as he tried to, attempting to hold an image of his brother in his head where he was happy, it felt like a lie. It all felt like a lie. His brother was damaged, and it was his fault. He had fallen for Lucifer’s manipulations, fallen for his ploy at being Castiel, failed at banishing Lucifer before he could touch his brother. It was all Sam’s fault, so Dean collapsing and falling from his bed was his fault too. Besides, if he weren’t hurt, Dean would never have gone to him. Sam would’ve gone to him, would’ve stayed by his side, would’ve helped him through it. But Dean had tried to do what he saw as his job. And as his room became empty again, Sam felt like a burden. It was all his fault.

The door was closed for only a few minutes, and then it opened again, making Sam flinch. There were plodding footsteps, and then the guard with the bump on his head was standing in front of him, brown eyes hard.

“Did you have anything to do with your brother getting in here?”

“No,” Sam said, drawing his gaze away from his eyes. He couldn’t look at his face, feeling too dirtied and guilt-ridden to deserve to look at another human being. He just wanted him to go away.

No answer, as if he didn’t believe him.

Sam gestured at himself, a harsh laugh leaving him. “What? You think I can sneak out of my room? That’s hilarious.”

“Why was he in here?”

“He wanted to see me. Any other stupid questions?” Sam snapped, words pulling at his bruised jaw, scraping against his throat.

Sam usually wasn’t this mean, but he didn’t know any other way to be at the moment. Maybe taunting him would make him leave.

“Look,” the guard responded, leaning down to get in his face, making Sam recoil, “you two are the most difficult people I’ve ever had to guard in my life. I don’t know where you learned the things that you did, if it was the military, if it was in some other hellhole, but this string of violence you two got going on needs to end. Your brother drugged the man that was supposed to be watching him. Nurses are taking care of him as we speak, and you know, he was friend.” He was silent, letting that sink in, and while Sam didn’t like innocents getting hurt, he mostly just thought that that had been pretty smart of his brother. Besides, there were bigger things at stake here than a police officer getting hurt if Lucifer decided to get involved again. “We’re trying to keep you safe,” he added when Sam continued to say nothing.

“Ha, good luck with that,” he muttered darkly.

The guard took a seat in the chair across from his bed, and Sam was thankful to have him out of his face.

“It’d be easier if we knew who to look for,” he admitted, expression softening a tad. “Why won’t you talk? Are you protecting your attacker?”

Sam huffed out air through his nose at the idea. Never. He’d never protect Lucifer in his life. Even if he wasn’t the Devil, someone who had committed such atrocities against him and his family didn’t deserve anything from him.

“Course not,” Sam answered.

He forced himself up so that he was propped up on his pillow, upper body trembling as he did so. He didn’t like feeling so small at the moment. When the nurses had been helping Dean, pretending he was small, that he wasn’t a threat, had seemed like the way to go. But he found the guard’s presence intimidating, so he was going to do his best to be on his level.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling pathetic about how difficult it had been to sit up. Sam’s body had always felt like a traitor to him, like something he didn’t want, didn’t want to be in, but now it was worse. It had been violated and used _again_ , and now it was weak. Sam couldn’t remember ever being this weak. He had been in Hell, but at least Hell had the courtesy of putting his body back together when it was done with him for the day.

“If I talk you’ll think I’m crazy, that’s all,” he got out, trying to bury his feelings. The hole he’d dug specifically for them wasn’t big enough, and they were spilling over, making a mess that he didn’t know how to clean up.

“Don’t be so sure. I’ve seen a few things.”

For now, Sam decided to give up on his emotions and turn his back on them, pretend they weren’t there.

So he kept the conversation going, hoping the guard didn’t see any of his inner struggles: “Not this. Besides, you can’t keep me safe.”

The guard leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “Keeping you safe is my job.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Sam said. “If the person who hurt me wants to do it again, you’re all screwed. You might as well just leave.”

“Can’t. Still trying to get you two to talk so we can get a proper investigation started.”

Sam gave him a bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was hiding his pain now, so he knew the guard would only see calculating coldness in the hazel depths.

“Won’t happen. Trust me.”

The guard smiled at him, and Sam didn’t like it.

“Your brother has evidence, right in his shoulder,” he explained, tapping his own right shoulder for emphasis. “All we need is his consent and we can talk to forensics, get this figured out. The EMTs and nurses saved some evidence as well. We just need the go ahead.”

“No,” Sam responded, voice cold and hard, emotionless. “I know how this is supposed to work. Normally you don’t even get wind of cases like this unless the victims consent to it. And we never did. The only reason you’re here is because we weren’t just… raped,” – even in this near emotionless state his heart still skipped a beat at the word, but he wasn’t in denial of this happening to him like Dean probably was; it had happened before – “we were tortured, too. But that doesn’t erase the fact that we were violated, so I don’t like having you here, and I’m sure my brother doesn’t either.”

“What’s the point?” he questioned. “What is the point in holding back if we already know you were-”

“Don’t say it,” Sam interrupted.

A sigh from the guard. “Look, it’s not like it’s some big secret you can hide. You can’t. So just let us do our jobs. Don’t you want him behind bars? And what if he hurts someone else?”

Sam didn’t tell him that he suspected he already had, and that he was probably hurting Castiel too. He knew the evidence would lead back to Castiel, would lead back to a deceased Jimmy Novak. And then there’d be questions, and even if Sam told the whole story, the truth, he’d still be seen as crazy. Maybe at this point he was crazy.

“Do you know what it’s like being tortured?” Sam asked, making it sound as if he were starting a new conversation. He had a point he wanted to get across, and hopefully he’d terrify the guard as he did so.

He shook his head, so Sam went on, “Once you’re restrained everything narrows down to that single moment. The first time you’re tortured, before the pain starts, you start thinking that it’s not real, that it couldn’t be happening to you. You think about how something like that was never going to happen to you. And then they get started on you. And you hurt. And you bleed. Everything becomes that pain, everything becomes wondering where you’re going to hurt next, what part of your body you’ll never be able to look at the same again, what scars and permanent damage will ruin you. And you want it to end. You do. Everything in you wants it to end, and everything in you questions how anyone could do that to another being. It doesn’t make sense, and even after, it still doesn’t make sense. It’ll never make sense, and some part of you will always hurt from it, will always feel afraid. So if I thought anything I said would help lock up the person who made me go through that then I’d be jumping to tell you. But, oh look, I’m not.

“I’m doing you a favor by keeping you in the dark. No matter how this goes, no matter what happens, if he wants to hurt me again, and you just so happen to be on duty when he gets bored, you’re dead. If you find him, you’re dead. If he finds you, you’re _dead_. So the smart thing to do would be to drop the case, pretend you weren’t here, like nothing happened. That’s how you get to walk away, that’s how you _live_. So, officer, while you think you’re protecting me, I’m really the one trying to protect you. You may think I’m crazy – I’ve been called that before – but I’m telling the truth. All this, everything you’re trying to do, it’s pointless, hopeless. So talk to the sheriff, find yourself a normal case, and leave me and my brother alone.”

The guard’s dark eyes were wide, and his jaw was clenched. He met Sam’s eyes for a few seconds, and Sam forced himself to return the hard stare. His jaw was hurting, letting him know he was probably tensing it, but he wanted this man to know he was serious. Sam had meant every single word he’d said to him.

That realization seemed to strike the other man, and he lowered his gaze to the floor, swallowing roughly. He stood, running a hand through his short, dirty blond hair.

“I-I’ll go g-get a nurse,” he stuttered out, clearly shaking. “Someone should probably check on you, maybe give you something to sleep.”

When the guard left, the silence that ensued allowed Sam’s half-buried emotions to whisper to him, and the mask he’d put on and had tried to hold inside himself crumbled. The whispers turned into shouts, and then into sobs, and then they were hands, holding him too tightly, clutching him so that he fell into that hole like it was becoming his grave.

His throat and chest ached as he held in his sobs, tears sliding down his cheeks.

A nurse came in, tried talking to him, but Sam felt as if he had talked enough for now, as if he’d said far too many words. Those words hurt. When he’d heard himself say them it had been as if they’d been coming from an entirely different person. Maybe they had. Sam didn’t know who he was anymore, didn’t know aside from the fact that he was this tainted, disgusting thing that was too guilty and full of shame to deserve anything.

Still, he didn’t argue when the nurse gave him something to sleep.

Even as he worried about Dean, the thought of sleep was nice. Sam needed an impermanent escape from everything, and the medicine he was being given was the way to do it. He’d ask after his brother once he woke up.

  

_Dean was alone in the bunker library, but the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He sat at one of the tables, his laptop open, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing. He looked around, feeling like someone else was supposed to be there. His gaze drew towards one of the pillars, and he couldn’t let it go, as if there was something he had to see. He didn’t want to see whatever it was, but it felt like he didn’t have a choice._

_There was nothing there._

_Still, Dean couldn’t draw his eyes away. Something or someone was supposed to be there. Two people were supposed to be there, weren’t they?_

No, you’re going crazy, _he told himself._

_He looked back at his laptop again, but now he only saw a blue error screen. The blue seemed to punch him in the chest, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder._

_He jumped, turned to see Castiel looking down at him. Cold slithered through him, goosebumps rising up on his arms, and he pulled away from his friend’s grip. Dean studied his face. Something was wrong._

_“Cas?” he questioned._

_“Hello, Dean.”_

_Though the greeting was one Dean would expect from Castiel, there was something about it that didn’t sit well with him. His eyes were big and endearing, his tone soft despite his rough voice. So it was Cas. Wasn’t it?_

_Then why did Dean’s stomach feel like it was liquefying from dread?_

_“H-hey,” he managed to say._

_He wasn’t sure why but he pushed his chair back, getting to his feet. The one inch he had on his friend didn’t do anything to make his nerves settle. Castiel took a step closer, and Dean found himself taking a step back._

_“What’s up?” Dean asked, pretending he felt fine, though his voice was a tad higher than his usual deep rumble._

_“I want to kiss you.”_

_Dean’s eyes widened and he swallowed roughly, feeling heat wash through him; whether it was from discomfort or sudden arousal, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both._

_“Wow. Um… That was, uh… forward.”_

_“I know humans seem to prefer seduction rather than just saying what they want out loud, but I’m unpracticed in that area,” he explained, taking another step closer._

_Backing up made Dean knock into the table, and he quickly pushed himself up onto it._

_“R-right,” he responded. “Yeah. Yeah, um… good.”_

_His cheeks were flushing red and he found it very difficult to look at his friend._

_“Do you want to kiss me, Dean?”_

_“Cas-”_

_“Dean.”_

_He gave a nervous laugh and Cas’ strong hands were on his thighs now. Dean was a large man, but those hands made him feel small. He slowly spread his legs apart before settling in between them, and then his hands went to his ass, pulling him closer._

_“Please, Dean. I want to kiss you. I thought… I thought maybe there was something there between us.” Dean could only stare at him, mouth agape, tip of his tongue between his teeth as he tried to think of something to say. “I guess I was wrong,” Castiel eventually added, beginning to draw away from him._

_Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him back into him, the middle finger of his right hand aching from the movement. This all seemed to be making his body react as if he was afraid, and maybe he was. But he’d liked the sturdiness of Cas in between his legs even as being against him made his heart climb up into his throat._

_“No,” he told him emphatically. “No, you’re right. I like you… in-in that way.”_

_“Good.”_

_Castiel started leaning forward, and Dean was sure he was about to kiss him, but then he saw something dark and red out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see what it was, and Castiel’s lips brushed against his jaw, sending tingles through him. The simple touch had even made a powerful jolt run through him, down in between his legs._

_That sensation mixed with what he saw nearly made bile rise up in his throat. Blood. As Castiel began to suck on his jaw, Dean realized he was looking at a large pool of blood. And then the heavy, sickening metallic scent hit him. A chill shuddered along his spine, and now Dean tried pushing Castiel away. The angel didn’t budge._

_“Cas. Hey, Cas.”_

_His mouth was working its way up to his ear, one of his hands against the back of his head, holding him close, the other gripping his shirt._

_“Cas.”_

_“Mm… Yes, Dean?”_

_“Whose blood is that?”_

_Then he felt like someone was watching him. Dean tried to twist his head in Castiel’s grip to see who else was there, but the angel held him steady._

_“It’s Sam’s,” he told him simply as if the words had little to no consequence._

_Dean’s stomach dropped, and he felt like something was crushing his lungs._

_“Sammy. Where is he?”_

_“He’s fine, Dean,” Castiel breathed into his ear before pulling on it lightly._

_“But the blood,” he reasoned, voice barely coming out though he wanted to shout._

_“I had to subdue him somehow,” Castiel explained, his voice changing, becoming higher, less_ him _._

_Dean grabbed at him, tried pulling away, tried shoving him off of him, but now Castiel was moving his laptop aside, and then he was pressing him down to the table so that his back was resting against it and his weight was over him._

_His lips were on his throat now, hands working over his body, and Dean glanced to the left._

_Sam was standing there, naked, skin slick with sweat, and something was dripping off of him. His eyes were dead, like he was soulless, like maybe he was too pained to feel._

_“Sammy!” Dean called out._

_He wanted to run to his brother, see what was wrong. He bucked against Cas, and as if his friend was punishing him, he ripped his shirt open, and then bit down into his right shoulder. Hard._

_Tears flooded Dean’s eyes, and he blinked them away, letting them slide down his cheeks as he threw his head back and cried out._

_Sam slowly turned around, and Dean’s heart beat faster the more of him he saw. Blood. There was so much blood. And then he knew where it was all coming from. His back had been savagely sliced into, torn and ravaged muscles exposed, blood welling from the wound. He shouldn’t even be standing if he was injured like that. And he saw that his thighs were dirtied with that same dark red, dripping, dripping, marring his skin._

_Then Dean felt something hot and wet on himself, a deep aching pain burning in his shoulder. And he realized Castiel was still biting him, harder and harder and harder._

_Sam stood there and bled, and Dean lay there and bled. Castiel moaned as he continued to tear at him with his teeth, agony sparking through Dean’s entire shoulder, down into his arm, up into his neck, through the upper right side of his back._

_Then his friend pulled back from him, his lips a bright red, some of it dripping down his chin._

_Dean was breathing heavily now, sweating, and Castiel smiled at him, baring his teeth. The gorgeous blue of his eyes was gone, and they were as red as his mouth. His lips met his as he dug his fingers into the wound on his shoulder._

Dean awoke with a startled cry that tore its way from his chest. And then hands were on, holding him down.

Lucifer was holding him down.

“N-no!” he whimpered. “Let go of me!”

“Dean, you have to lie still.”

“Screw you!” he shouted at the voice. There were people around him, and he could see them somewhat, could see the shape and colors, but that was about it, couldn’t make out finer details. He almost wanted to go back to his nightmare. At least there he could see.

“We’re just trying to check your injuries, see what’s causing your fever,” a woman responded. He recognized the voice. “Your finger is fine, but now we need to look at your shoulder.” Dean could place her now. She was one of the nurses who had checked on his vitals the night before: Shawna. Dean was surprised that through any of this that he’d remembered her name.

A fearful, warning growl rose up out of his chest when he felt hands undoing his bandages, and he started shaking. It wasn’t really the pain that bothered him, though it felt like there was a fire in his shoulder. It was the vulnerability, the helplessness. God, Dean was so helpless. They could do absolutely anything to him.

Gloved fingers pressed around his wound, and he groaned, body growing taut, his head tilting back.

“We need to page Dr. Michael,” Shawna said, clearly not liking whatever it was she saw.

The smell emanating from the wound didn’t make matters any better. Now that the bandages were off something foul was assaulting Dean’s nostrils, making him want to do all he could to get away from it. But he couldn’t. It was in him.

Dean didn’t want them to page Dr. Michael. It was nighttime. He was probably at home cleaning up from dinner, or maybe it was later than that. He didn’t know since no one had graced him with the time and he couldn’t see. Maybe he was already in bed. Either way Dean didn’t deserve to have someone else’s life interrupted just so he could be helped.

But Dean didn’t feel as if he had a say in the matter. He didn’t feel as if anyone would listen to anything he said. So he remained silent.

Once one of the blurred figures left the room, presumably to page Dr. Michael, Shawna said to Dean, “We’re going to restrain you now.” Part of him wanted to question why, but another part didn’t care. He thought this crap might as well happen to him. He was powerless now. As those thoughts took hold of his mind Shawna explained, “It’s hospital policy for violent patients. The straps will be taken off in twenty-four hours if there aren’t any further incidents and if we think you’re well enough. Do you understand?”

Dean said nothing. He understood well enough, but talking felt like a chore. Besides, what was even the point? She had to restrain him and that was that. Dean wasn’t even sure he was upset about it. He _had_ attacked two guards.

Though they were innocent people he didn’t feel guilty about it. They’d just been obstacles, trying to stop him from getting to Sam. He knew there was something wrong with that, but he already hated himself too much to bother dwelling on it.

“Dean?” she prompted.

He didn’t bother glancing in her direction; there wasn’t much to see anyway. He closed his eyes. At least with his eyes closed it was dark and he could pretend that when he opened them the world would show itself to him in stark clarity. But he knew that wasn’t true, so he kept them shut, wanting to keep pretending. Just for a little longer. He could pretend everything was fine for just a little longer. He could see, Sam was fine, Dean was fine, Cas was fine. He was just in the hospital because a hunt had gone wrong and he’d be good as new soon. He hadn’t been…

No, of course he hadn’t.

That wasn’t why he ached inside and out.

Things like that didn’t happen to people like Dean. That’s just not how it was, right? He was a man, and a big and strong one at that. So of course it hadn’t happened to him.

Yeah, he could think that.

For now.

But he knew as soon as he opened his eyes this tenuous and fragile fantasy he’d constructed for himself – one in which he hadn’t experienced something he could never come back from – would shatter. It would become a hazy burst of blurred color, and he couldn’t handle that right now.

Shawna must’ve given the go ahead to the other nurse because Dean felt padded leather straps getting pulled against his wrists. Something volatile that had taken root in his chest wanted to be let loose at those frightening sensations, was spreading outwards into his stomach, burning out his exhaustion. He tensed his aching body as his chest began to heave, breaths quickening.

Dean recognized what was happening. His body was preparing to fight.

He tried telling himself there wasn’t any danger, but that felt like a lie when he could smell Castiel, when his mind was doing a re-run of his bloody ruining.

_No, no, no, no, no…_

A whining growl crawled out of his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He feared opening them, feared that they’d burn as he saw Sam bleeding, growing blurrier and blurrier as his vision failed him.

There was a knife in his finger, teeth in his shoulder, a cock buried deep in his body. The smell of Cas was everywhere and he couldn’t get rid of it no matter how hard he breathed, his inhales growing more and more panicked as he realized he was stuck with it. He was trembling now, and straps were being tightened around his ankles before a blanket was placed over him.

Dean had liked the way Cas smelled, like musky warmth with a hint of cinnamon. But now he wanted to get rid of it.

God, he missed Cas. Missed him so much. He worried about him, worried that Lucifer was hurting him. He didn’t think the Devil liked to hurt his vessels while possessing them. At least, not in any overt attack, but he had a personal vendetta against the three of them, was maybe even obsessed. He was obsessed with his brother. That much was clear, and knowing that was nearly enough to make Dean throw up.

Even as he missed Cas till his heart ached he never wanted to see him ever again. Good memories of him were now shadowed with pain, with confusion, with anger. He hated himself for directing that anger at his best friend, and some part of him knew all of it should be directed at Lucifer.

But Cas had hurt him. And he’d done so of his own volition. He’d told Dean why, and Dean understood. He did, but he still felt sadness and anger like poison in his blood.

He remembered the few seconds before, how the angel’s tears had fallen onto his face, how he’d been gentle. And Dean had wanted it, had wanted him, had clung to that one moment of good as tightly as he could. And then it’d been violently ripped away from him.

If Dean ever saw Castiel again he wasn’t sure if he’d kiss him, punch him, or cower in fear. It crossed his mind that maybe they’d have to kill him to get rid of Lucifer. Or they could get him out of Cas somehow. Maybe there was a way. There had to be a way. He still wanted to save his friend.

But thinking that far ahead seemed nearly impossible while some part of him was still on the floor in the bunker library and the rest of him was in his injured and sick body.

He flinched when he felt a gloved hand on him, but it was a small hand, a feminine hand. It didn’t erase the hand that was gripping his hip.

Gauze was being placed over his wounds again as Shawna told him, “Dr. Michael’s on his way here.”

Dean was surprised when he spoke, when he found he still had a voice to use and he wasn’t using it to scream: “Is there anything you can do until he does?”

“I’m sorry, but any decisions about how to proceed are up to him. He’ll be here as soon as he can. Just relax for now.”

_Funny._

Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever relax again in his life unless he was incredibly drunk.

_Too bad they don’t allow alcohol in hospitals._

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, his door opening and then closing, and Dean figured he was alone. He didn’t open his eyes though. He liked this choice to keep them closed, liked that he could do it, that he didn’t have to open them and see something he didn’t want to.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, chills taking over his body even as he continued to sweat and his shoulder continued to burn. All the while Lucifer’s voice spoke to him, and he just wished he’d shut up.

“ _You boys, over here begging – it’s adorable._ ”

“ _Dean’s watching, by the way. Ten bucks say he’s gonna get off to this._ ”

“ _Eyes_ open _._ ”

“ _Your turn, Dean._ ”

“ _Oh, Dean._ ”

“ _Dean, Dean, Dean…_ ”

“ _No, silly. I’m going to screw_ you _._ ”

“ _I’m going to take_ good _care of you, Dean._ ”

“ _I want Sammy to see your face._ ”

“ _Keep screaming, Dean._ ”

“ _Keep screaming…_ ”

“ _Keep screaming…_ ”

“ _Keep screaming…_ ”

The door opened, startling him from the memories that had fallen over his brain like fog, and he nearly did scream, Lucifer’s lips against his ear. It thankfully faded in a few seconds, and for now, he was able to focus on the here and now.

“Hi, Dean,” Dr. Michael greeted as he went over to the sink and washed his hands. “Heard you had quite the adventure earlier.”

Dean wasn’t sure why, but he forced past the exhaustion that tried clutching onto his words and responded, “Had to see Sam.”

Dr. Michael was over at his right side now – Dean could sense him – and he was snapping on a pair of gloves. He opened his eyes to glance at his blurry figure, but then turned to look at his shoulder as he took the gauze off of it. It wasn’t as blurry as Dr. Michael was since it was closer. He saw red and yellow and maybe some indentations in his skin.

“You know I could’ve helped with that,” he told him as he peered at his shoulder.

“Wanted to be alone.”

“Okay, well no more of that. You’re supposed to be on bed rest.” He pressed down against the burning ache, and Dean grit his teeth. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

Then he pressed on another spot. “What about here?”

“Y-yeah.”

The pain wasn’t as bad where his hand was now, maybe half an inch closer to his bicep. Dr. Michael kept up with that until he determined where the pain from that injury stopped completely.

“So how would you say your pain is on a scale of one to ten? One being it’s not really bothering you, ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt.”

Dean gave a small laugh at that. The worst pain he’d ever felt. After thirty years of being tortured in Hell his pain scale was more than a little off. Being torn apart on a daily basis tended to do that to someone. So for Dean, a ten was probably getting skinned, followed by having his muscles ripped into, and then his bones crushed. A one was probably a punch in the face since he could still easily keep going after that.

But what was a normal pain scale? He couldn’t remember.

“Seven,” Dean finally answered. It did hurt too badly for him to move, so it was definitely serious.

“I won’t be able to give you anything for it.”

“Wait, what?”

“Your shoulder’s infected. I’ll have to schedule a surgery for you first thing in the morning.”

Dean wasn’t sure why but the idea of a surgery made him nervous.

“No, that’s okay. Just up the antibiotics and I should be good, right?”

Dr. Michael sighed and there was a creak as he sat down in the chair by his bed. “No, it won’t be good. The infection has gone deep into your shoulder. It wouldn’t have gotten this bad if you had let someone know it was bothering you.”

Dean just glanced at his shoulder, and jokingly said, “Wow, that infection sure got to work real quick.”

“I’m trying to help you, Dean, but I can’t do that if you don’t keep me updated on your condition. You have to work with me on this.”

Dean knew that, and he knew that his doctor couldn’t just magically know how he was feeling. It was on Dean to tell him, to cooperate with him. But he’d always been uncooperative, and now he just didn’t feel like he deserved the help.

But he didn’t feel like talking to his doctor about something like that, so he lied, “I didn’t realize it was bothering me.”

There was silence as Dr. Michael probably gave him a disbelieving look; that’s what Dean would’ve done if he were faced with a patient like himself.

“Alright,” he eventually said, clearly deciding to let it go. “I’ll go schedule your surgery, and a nurse will be in to take some blood.”

“What, you didn’t get enough of it when it was all over me?” Dean questioned bitterly, not sure where the words came from or why he’d let them leave his mouth.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dr. Michael left the room and now Dean had to wait for the nurse. He was sick of waiting around for people to take care of him. It seemed like it was all he did now. Wait, wait, and wait. And that gave his mind free time to play the biggest hits of his newest trauma.

_Lucifer biting Dean’s shoulder, now in theaters. Grab some popcorn and enjoy the show,_ he thought jokingly, though there was no amusement in it.

Even though sometimes being with people seemed to prove as a distraction, he didn’t like them either. His current train of thought made him realize that he didn’t like anything. Each second was agony. His body hurt, his mind hurt, and he was sick of it. He wanted to drink. God, how he wanted to drink. It would feel so good, letting his mind become hazy with alcohol, giving in to that warm, blissful fog. He wanted it so badly that for a second he began to plan how to get something to drink. It’d be doable, right? Get out of his restraints, out of his room, out of the hospital, steal a car, and go to a bar. A bar seemed fun. Plenty to drink there, and plenty of people to look at. There’d also be a few people who might be able to entertain him.

Dean blinked, frowning, shocked at where his own thoughts had gone. Had he… Had he just started thinking about sex? Why would he do that? Sex had hurt him, had damaged him, had ruined him. Why would he want it?

Then, Dean realized that he did in fact want it. And he wanted to be in control of it. He wanted it to fill the hole he felt inside, wanted it to wash away Lucifer’s touch with someone else’s, wanted it to go at someone till his emotions were out, wanted it to feel something other than the darkness in his soul.

But he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to be used, didn’t want anyone to get pleasure because of him. Pleasure, sexual pleasure was sickening. It hurt that he’d almost never seen it that way. He had when he was younger, when he’d just started having sex, but that had been because he’d only been doing it to get money to take care of Sam. But when he’d first had sex because he wanted to and not because he’d needed to he’d loved it, and he hadn’t stopped loving it.

Sex was good. Or it had been to him.

But now… What was it to him now?

He knew sex wasn’t just what Lucifer had forced on him. Sex was so much more than that. But now the idea of being against someone else, feeling their skin on his was too much, and it grew worse when he imagined being in someone. Because in his head he wasn’t in anyone. Someone was in him and he didn’t want them there.

He wasn’t even saved from his thoughts about sex when someone came in to take his blood.

He realized all his thoughts were pointless at the moment. Even if he wasn’t restrained he was sure he wouldn’t be able to be out of bed for long. And he knew alcohol was stupid, and knew sex would terrify him. He probably wouldn’t even be able to get it up.

But he had when Lucifer had raped Sam.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he swallowed roughly.

The nurse taking his blood misunderstood and she said, “Don’t worry, almost finished.”

Dean didn’t grace her with a response. He was too busy hating himself and wondering if there was a way he could make sure he’d never get an erection ever again. He had a brief violent thought about cutting his dick off, but then it passed. Still, he felt a weight in his pelvis, overbearing darkness, shame, guilt. Disgust. Dean was disgusting, absolutely _revolting_ , and if these people knew they wouldn’t want to be taking care of him. They’d realize he didn’t deserve it. But he couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t tell anyone. Only Sam knew and that was already too much. He was just glad he hadn’t thought of it when he’d been with him. He wouldn’t have even been able to get in the bed with him to hug him, wouldn’t have been able to look at his blurry figure.

The nurse finished taking his blood, and he felt a little dizzy now. Maybe his body was telling him he’d had enough. But if he felt like this he couldn’t even imagine how Sam was feeling.

Somehow Dean drifted off to sleep, and then he woke up to sunlight peeking through the blinds on his window. Dr. Michael was there, telling him good morning before he began to write and draw on his shoulder so he’d know how to operate on him. After a lot of technicalities Dean was getting a mask placed over his face, the horrible smell of anesthesia overriding his senses. Fear inexplicably sparked through him before everything turned fuzzy and then went black.

  

Jody awoke much later than she’d wanted to. It was late morning, almost 11:00 AM, and she had missed calls from Donna, Claire, and Alex. After washing up and getting ready for the day, she decided to call her girls first.

She sat in the car with her phone, ready to head to a diner or café to get some breakfast, and then she’d go see Sam and Dean.

Alex was the one to pick up the home phone, and once she went and grabbed Claire so all three of them could talk Claire asked, “How are Sam and Dean?”

“What happened?” Alex chimed in. “Did something attack them?”

Jody pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a headache, maybe from the stress of the broken states she’d seen her friends in.

“Look, girls, they… they aren’t doing well, and it looks like it’s gonna be awhile before they’re back in the game.”

_If they’ll even get back in the game._

Sam and Dean had been through a lot, and she knew it took more than a day for the brain to process something like that. But what they’d gone through had been incredibly personal and violating. The Devil, looking like their friend had hurt them in front of each other in their _own home_. Their trust had been violated, they’re safe space had been violated, _they_ had been violated, and Jody wasn’t sure they’d experienced this particular brand of trauma before.

“We can go down there,” Alex offered.

“Yeah. Besides, I want to go after whatever hurt them.”

Claire.

“No,” Jody stated emphatically, her mind already picturing Claire’s dead body.

“But-”

“This isn’t up to you,” Jody told her. “They did get attacked, and no, you’re not hunting it.”

“So it’s still out there?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m coming.”

“Claire!”

Alex simply informed her, “She’s walking away, Mom.”

Jody sighed. “Well, then stop her!”

Silence from Alex, and then she said, “What if we can help? Sam and Dean saved my life and I don’t feel right just sitting here when I know they’re hurting.”

“Alex, come on,” Jody argued. “There’s nothing either of you can do. The doctors and nurses are doing what they can to take care of them. They’re just going to need time. A lot of time.”

“How badly are they hurt?”

Jody’s vision suddenly blurred as she pictured them: their bruises, their bandages, Dean’s reddened and damaged eyes, Sam puking up his own blood. And she remembered the conversation with Sam and his doctor, thought of the injuries inside of him, the sickness he now had. She thought of Dean’s silence and then his tearful outburst.

“P-pretty bad,” she responded, a tear trailing down her cheek. “They can hardly get out of bed, and Sam’s sick. And Dean… Dean’s vision’s been impaired.”

“Permanently?” Alex asked in shock.

“I don’t know. He didn’t talk to me about it.”

Jody began to wonder that same thing, if Dean would ever have his eyesight back to what it had been. She figured the doctors would run some tests to see if there was improvement, but she just didn’t know how this would turn out. Dean might need glasses.

“What happened to them, Mom?”

Jody wasn’t about to tell her daughter their friends had been raped. It wasn’t hers to tell. But she still had to answer. She sucked in a breath, trying to steel herself.

When she spoke her voice was shaky, “They were tortured, honey.”

Alex said nothing for awhile and Jody knew her silence was due to distress. She knew she should say something comforting, but she had nothing, and that made her feel absolutely terrible. Ever since the day before she’d just felt useless. She didn’t know what to say to Sam and Dean to make them feel even a little better, didn’t think anything could help, and now she didn’t know how to comfort her daughter in the wake of what she’d just told her.

“I gotta go,” Alex said. “Claire’s packing a bag, and like you said, I gotta stop her.”

“I love you,” Jody told her, hoping that through her words she shared all she was feeling, her wish to be with her, her wish to know what to say to help.

Alex seemed to understand because there was just as much emotion as she responded, “Love you, too, Mom.”

Alex hung up and then Jody rested her head against the steering wheel. She felt as if in that moment she’d failed as a mother. She knew both her daughters had experienced traumatic events and weren’t little girls, but she still knew it was on her to comfort them when they encountered more evil in the world. Alex was clearly upset, and she was most certainly going to tell Claire how the rest of the phone call had gone. Claire seemed closer to the two brothers, so she knew she’d be hurting.

But there was nothing Jody could do for now.

She decided she’d call back in a few hours.

She clenched her jaw, holding in the urge to cry, and then she started up the car and left the motel parking lot.

 

Her next phone call was to Donna. She was having breakfast at a café she’d found, and as she sat there, waiting for Donna to answer the phone, she tried to enjoy the quiet atmosphere. And she thought about how Sam would probably enjoy it here. Jody wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been a few times already. It seemed like his kind of place, the tables evenly spaced apart so it wasn’t too crowded, a glass display case of baked goods across from the door, warm colors that made her think of a crisp, yet relaxing fall day.

Donna didn’t pick up the first time, so Jody tried again. This time she answered and she heard a snarl and then Donna said, “Hiya, Jody! Give me a sec.”

There were a few violent sounds from the other end, a blade whipping through the air, a cry, a meaty smack, and then a sickening _thunk_.

The other sheriff picked up the phone again, now out of breath, and got out, “Sorry, you caught me at a bad time. Was in the middle of killing a vampire. The sucker woke up when my phone started ringing.”

Jody winced at the fact that she’d endangered her friend, though she knew Donna could hold her own.

“So how are the boys?” she asked, her words replacing Jody’s guilt with a sense of dread that she’d have to be the bearer of bad news.

“Not good,” Jody responded, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to elaborate. She didn’t want a re-run of her earlier phone call.

“Jody, that’s hardly an answer.”

Jody took a sip of her coffee, trying to think of how to say this. She felt as if she’d already butchered it with Alex, but really, there wasn’t a delicate way to put it. How could you put something like this delicately? _Oh, your friends have been tortured. Have a nice day._ There just wasn’t any proper way to handle it. Bad news was bad news, and as sheriff Jody had had to give a lot of families bad news over the years, about the deaths of deputies she’d lost in the line of duty, explaining what had happened to victims’ families. But this just felt different, struck her in a different way.

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Look, someone, some _thing_ , got into their home and…”

Jody couldn’t go on, and immediately lost her appetite as her mind imagined Sam and Dean’s screams. She hadn’t been to the bunker yet, didn’t know what the scene looked like, but she could imagine it. Their clothes on the floor amidst pools of blood. For a second she wondered how the deputies were making out with the crime scene. There were probably a lot of questions, and she’d have to talk to Sheriff Kaminski about it afterwards.

“And what?” Donna prompted.

God, she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want it to be real. But she knew it was, knew that there was no going back from what had happened, and her friends’ injuries were all too evident of what had happened.

“And tortured them,” she answered.

Donna sucked in a breath. “Oh gosh.”

Even with her simple reply, it was filled with emotion. Shock, horror, confusion, disbelief. The both of them knew there were evil things out there, had seen a lot of evil as hunters, as protectors of their towns, but having something like this hit so close to home was different than handling a case. Much different. They’d both had training to block out their emotions when need be, but this had happened so suddenly, and was different than what they’d been prepared for. They’d been taught to deal with grief, but how do you grieve when the person who’s changed forever is still alive? How do you heal that hole when you have to see the broken thing they’ve become?

“Yep,” she responded, not sure what else to say.

“What… What did it?”

“I don’t know,” Jody lied.

She felt Donna wouldn’t press her if she lied. If she admitted to knowing she figured her sweet, but fierce friend would somehow get it out of her, and she didn’t think Sam and Dean would want her spreading that information.

“They wouldn’t tell me,” she went on. “I’m gonna visit them in a bit, see how they’re doing, but it’ll be awhile before they’re better again.”

“Okay,” Donna said. “Well, give ‘em my love.”

They hung up. Jody looked down at her phone before placing it on the table. She was sitting in the back of the tiny café, and no one had paid the conversation any notice. No one was giving her strange glances now, and they were just carrying on with their conversations, so no, no one had heard.

_At least that’d been a little easier,_ she thought, drawing her gaze away from her phone to the plate in front of her. The apple cinnamon muffin she’d ordered no longer seemed appealing, but she forced herself to pick it up and take a bite. If she was going to be there for Sam and Dean she couldn’t let her health fall on the wayside.

 

Alex hadn’t tried to stop Claire like she thought she would’ve. Instead, after hanging up, she went to pack as well.

Claire finished first and now stood, waiting in her bedroom doorway.

“So you’re seriously not gonna stop me?” she questioned.

“Does it look like I’m going to?” she responded, not bothering to look at her as she crossed her room to go through her closet. She started grabbing various shirts off of hangers, movements frantic.

“And why not?”

Claire had expected Alex to put up some sort of a fight, but instead she was _packing_. It seemed so unlike her that Claire worried about how the rest of the conversation with Jody had gone. Had she told Alex something that Claire hadn’t been around to hear?

She went back over to the duffle bag she had placed onto her bed and started trying to cram the shirts in, but it was too tight of a fit. Claire went over to help her.

“You have to roll them. Like this,” she told her, grabbing a shirt from the haphazard pile to demonstrate for her. “Makes more room.”

“Thanks.”

“So why are you coming with me? Not like you’re a hunter or anything.”

“Neither are you,” Alex shot back. Claire opened her mouth to say something equally rude to her, but she continued, “Sorry. Jody told me something, and I feel like I should be there for the men who saved my life rather than sitting here on my ass.”

“What’d she say?” Claire asked.

Alex put down the shirt she’d been rolling up, and Claire grabbed it to pack it for her. She looked away from her, something dark in her brown eyes.

“They were tortured,” she answered quietly.

Claire wanted Alex to smile, to start laughing, to say she was just joking. But she did none of those things, and her stomach dropped to her feet as that sentence hit her. Sam and Dean. Her friends. Men she’d despised at first, men she associated with the death of her father. But they were good men, and they did all they could in a world that tried so hard to commit every wrong. And they’d been tortured. Claire knew being a hunter was dangerous, but knowing two people she cared about had been hurt in such a way, seemingly because of the life they lived, it hit home. She wanted to crumple to the floor, hug her knees to her chest. But she did none of those things. She took in a shaky breath, closing her eyes.

_Come on, Claire. You got this. They need you._

Claire didn’t care what Jody had said, that they shouldn’t go. She wasn’t sure there was much she could do, but she could be with them; let them know that she cared. That’s what mattered. Jody shouldn’t have to carry the weight of being by their sides alone.

“W-what about Castiel? Can’t he heal them?” she finally asked, realizing that maybe the problem of their physical injuries could be solved quickly.

Alex shrugged. “Jody didn’t say anything about him, so I guess he’s out of the picture.”

“What? But he can’t be!”

Another shrug.

Where was Castiel? Didn’t he care? The part of Claire that was still hurt from seeing the angel take her father darkened what she knew of him, made her think for a few moments that he didn’t care. Why would he? He just took what he wanted and let other people die for it. But no, that wasn’t Castiel. Castiel cared. He cared a lot. He’d done what he could to take care of Claire after he’d found her again. And she knew him, knew him in a way that most others didn’t since he’d possessed her for a time. Castiel was good, or at least, he tried to be.

So where was he now?

Was he being held prisoner somewhere?

Was he hurt?

Was he _dead_?

Her thoughts were racing, trying to make sense of everything, and she leaned back against Alex’s bureau, gripping the end of it till her knuckles were white. Alex didn’t say anything, let her have these moments to process everything. It was a while before those thoughts could calm down, too long for Claire since she wanted to be on the road already, but she had a feeling that if she didn’t let herself have this moment then it would hit her worse later in the day. Maybe that part was still coming.

“I’ll call Jody,” Claire eventually breathed, reaching into her back pocket for her phone.

“Claire, she might be visiting Sam and Dean,” Alex reasoned.

She let out a frustrated growl, doing her best to not let it turn into a sob, the corners of her eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

“You’re right.”

“Besides, we’ll see her tonight.”

“She’s gonna be mad,” Claire pointed out.

She was glad the conversation hadn’t gotten emotional like she had worried it would. They were just talking, right? Just talking, like everything was normal. It was. They were just going to go on a little road trip, were going to see their friends. That was all.

“You’re the one who started packing first,” Alex told her, zipping up her bag. She threw it over her shoulder and then went on, “I’ll just tell her you dragged me along.”

Claire wanted to argue with her, but she didn’t have it in her. Besides, she figured they could do plenty of arguing in the car, and they probably would. She tried to shoot a glare at her sister, but Alex stepped up to her and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Claire’s lips trembled, a sad smile making its way onto her face, and Alex returned it.

She kept her hand there, and Claire shoved it away, knowing that’s what she wanted her to do.

“Don’t get all sappy on me,” she forced out, her words turning into a choked laugh. “Now, come on, let’s go.”

She left the room, Alex following behind her, and Claire wanted to stop, was now terrified to see the state that her friends were in. A bunch of horrible scenarios flashed through her head. Though it was ridiculous since they’d been in the hospital for over a day now she pictured them covered in blood, and she couldn’t stand it. Then more horrible things came to mind. What if their eyes were missing? Their fingers? Their toes? Any of their limbs?

After Claire grabbed her bag and she and Alex got into the car she asked, “Did Jody say anything about… about their injuries?”

“Not much. Dean can’t see well, and Sam’s sick.”

“Sick?”

How could he be sick? Did his injuries get infected? Was there something else going on that she didn’t know abut?

Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. Didn’t explain.”

Claire nodded, and forced out a deep breath, not liking that they didn’t have much information to go off. It made her mind come up with too many unsavory, horrifying things. But they’d find out soon. She started up the car, and then they were on their way. They were going to see Sam and Dean, and Claire was determined to kill whatever had hurt them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claire was already going to show up in this story, but not till much later. She just kind of inserted herself in earlier than planned, and Alex wasn't even going to be in it at all originally, but I couldn't stop her.


End file.
